A Wave of Winter
by MrsCatherineWinter
Summary: The Army of the Dead is marching south, leaving a path of destruction on its way. Will the King in the North and the Dragonqueen be able to stop them? What will happen to everyone else? Who will find love amidst the chaos? Who will rescue their friends? Who will survive the Long Night? And who will finally sit on the Iron Throne? A suggestion for Season 8.
1. Tormund, Snow

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to George R. R. Martin and HBO, and I don't earn my money with these stories._

_Hey everyone,_

_after watching the seventh season, my sister and I were so excited that we decided to invent our own Season 8. The story is already written (about 75,000 words and over 50 chapters) and we will publish the chapters every now and then – but the last chapter is scheduled to be posted before the 14th of April, of course. This is a Game of Thrones fanfiction, therefore be prepared for character deaths, etc. So here it is, enjoy and let us know what you think about it._

_Best regards,_

_Catherine and her sister_

_PS: We aren't native speakers, so there might be a few mistakes, but if you were so kind as to write us a message to tell us of them, we would immediately correct them._

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**A Wave of Winter**

* * *

"When you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die.

There is no middle ground."

_Cersei Lannister_

* * *

"We're all on the same side – we're breathing."

_Jon Snow_

* * *

Chapter 1 – Tormund – Snow

Snow had never bothered Tormund. He had lived his whole life beyond the Wall where there was always winter and therefore snow. He had eaten it when he was a toddler, only to at first grimace at the cold in his mouth and then gawk in awe when it melted and he suddenly swallowed water. He had played with his friends in it, had built snowmen and had thrown snowballs in his peers' faces. He had even made love in the snow a few times. But what he had to endure right now was worse than what he had ever experienced – it was absolute and pure agony.

The Wall had collapsed. Not the whole Wall, of course, but the east side of it together with Eastwatch by the Sea and had entombed all the Free Folk and Crows with it. At first, Tormund had been buried by such an amount of snow and ice that he thought it would crash his very bones. But quickly before he could suffocate, he stemmed the snow above him away with all the force he possessed and was finally able to breathe fresh air again.

That was when he turned around – and saw them. The Army of the Dead together with its leader, the Night King, made their way through the Wall and entered the land of the (still) living – accompanied by the wretched dragon that had melted the Wall in the first place! The probably same one he had seen die a few days prior. He didn't want to imagine what power the Night King truly possessed if he was able to revive a magical creature like a dragon…

Tormund looked around but except for snow, collapsed buildings and dead bodies he found no place where he could hide. He had experienced enough by now to know his only survival chance: play dead. So he buried himself further into the snow and tried to stay as limb as possible, even checking that no one saw the white smoke his breath made. His only comfort was that he could lie down on his back and didn't have to stand – although that also meant that he couldn't see very far.

It took the Army ages to all pass the ruins of the Wall, and Tormund's fear and pain grew with every minute. On the one hand, he was afraid the Dead might find him and was glad that most of them were idiots that followed their leader without thinking or questioning, therefore they didn't even glance around to investigate for survivors they could kill. On the other hand, the cold crept further into his body and into his very bones. It became so freezing that Tormund had to hold his jaw in order to keep his teeth from clattering and he feared that if he didn't die because of the wights, he would die of pneumonia.

When the White Walkers were finally gone, Tormund stayed in his ice prison for a while longer in fear, they might come back, or some stragglers came later. Only when he was certain he was alone, he finally climbed out of the snow and staggered a few metres before falling to his knees. He tried to warm his legs with his hands, but they were painfully cold, too. With all his strength he crawled towards the nearest collapsed building in hope of some warmth. He found an entrance to a small room which would give him shelter for the night, as well as some dead Crows whose thick fur coats he took and laid them around his legs and arms. But to his utter luck he found flintstones in one of the men's pockets and gathered some wood, then he brought his new treasures towards the furthest corner of the room, so that hopefully no one could detect the golden shimmer of the flames from outside. When a small fire started crackling and slowly warmed him again, he knew that there was still something important to do before he could finally rest. So he gathered all the bodies he could find, brought them behind the largest building of Eastwatch and burned them individually, in hope that the fires would soon die out after the bodies were merely ashes.

Devastated and tired, Tormund made his way back to his rudimentary shelter, put more wood on his fire, and tried to fall asleep. His next actions were clear to him: he had to reach Castle Black as soon as possible, so that he could send a raven to Jon, warning him.

_The Dead made it through the Wall. They're coming._


	2. Grey Worm, Dominance

Chapter 2 – Grey Worm – Dominance

Grey Worm lay in his tent outside of King's Landing and tried to fall asleep. This day had proven to be a precarious situation and he was glad that the Lannister army hadn't come out of the capital for a battle. Further, it had become even colder today, and a small layer of snow now covered the land.

There had been a change of plan, in which most of the Unsullied would stay in front of the capital for another day to show emphasis. He envied the few Unsullied that had been allowed to travel with the Queen from Dragonstone to Winterfell, while the rest would follow the Dothraki (who had already started their journey this day) over the King's Road the next day. He envied them because they could be close to Missandei, while he was leagues away from her. But if everything worked out alright – and though he wasn't a religious man, he prayed for this –, he would be able to see her again in around two weeks.

There were so many thoughts and memories in his mind, that letting go, thinking of nothing to fall asleep was not easy these days for him. This time he travelled in his head towards their encounter in Casterly Rock a few days ago…

There was nothing there. The treasures and supplies they had hoped to find in Casterly Rock were non-existent. Counting the few men that had tried to stop them it had not been difficult to conclude that this castle had been abandoned. Furthermore, Euron Greyjoy's fleet had destroyed their ships but had luckily then sailed away without any combat on land.

Grey Worm knew this part of Daenerys' army couldn't stay there long, especially since it became colder with every day. So he had sent her a raven, asking for further instructions. That had been a few days prior. How grand was this country that it took a raven this long? What if the raven didn't make its way, couldn't find the Dragon Queen? He knew that_ he_ then had to make a decision of either staying or going, and if he chose going, whereto – but he still didn't enjoy deciding anything. His whole life he had been trained to follow orders, not to make them.

"Grey Worm," an Unsullied spoke.

Grey Worm turned around and tried to identify the man. It used to be of no importance to him to know the names of his men, they were just a strong mass, the individual was of no significance, anyone could be replaced. But since Daenerys had freed them, Grey Worm had tried to learn all the names in her honour, to show that he embraced the better change she had brought them, by recognising his fellow Unsullied as individuals. But he didn't know this one's name, yet, only that he had seen him before.

"A raven from Dragonstone," the man said in Astapori Valyrian and gave him a small scroll.

Grey Worm nodded his thanks and read the letter after the man had left him again. He recognised the script as Tyrion's but knew the words were dictated by Daenerys.

_Grey Worm,_

_take whatever you believe is advantageous and then march east. Meet us in King's Landing, where we will decide how to best approach first this so-called 'queen', and then the White Walkers._

_Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains_

There was another sentence after her goodbye, written less carefully, as if in a hurry.

_PS: Please go to the bedroom with the blue walls and stars. There you will find a hidden compartment under the left window. Please take the fairy-tale book inside with you._

Grey Worm frowned. Why would Daenerys be interested in a simple fairy-tale book? Did it contain important clues about the threat beyond the Wall? But it still was an order and Grey Worm wasn't one to deny his Queen anything.

So he asked his men if they had seen such a room and they showed it to him. It was in the wing where the master bedrooms had been and therefore probably belonged to one of the Lannister family.

When Grey Worm entered the room, he knew instantly to whom it had formerly belonged. There was a small bed, a low table and chair, and even the bookshelves were only so high that a child could reach the highest shelf easily. This was Tyrion Lannister's room. It could have been any child's room, of course, but he had heard the Hand of the Queen once say that he had stayed in Casterly Rock until his 19th name day.

The room itself looked quite pretty, with a beige carpet and light blue walls with silver, unsymmetrical stars painted onto them; they weren't professionally drawn, so he had the idea that young Tyrion did it himself. Furthermore, the furniture was dark but handsome mahogany, and there was a comfortable reading area near the largest window with a soft grey armchair in front of it and a blanket on the windowsill as if for sitting. He could easily imagine, Tyrion sitting and reading there all day long, while his older siblings played in the garden under his window, and the many candle wax drops on the windowsill indicated that he had also read through the night.

Grey Worm went to the left window and went on his knees, searching for the hidden book. He didn't have to obey the Hand's wishes (and it was obvious to him now that Tyrion had added the PS on his own), but he owed the little man much, since he had saved his Missandei from the attack of the Sons of the Harpy back in Mereen. After searching for a moment, he detected a loose stone in the wall and when he removed it, he found a not so small area behind it. There were some toys, even a pressed flower and a golden bracelet with an onyx stone in the middle. But Grey Worm only looked for one thing and it wasn't difficult to find it. A moment later he held _Fairy Tales of Westeros and the Far East_ in his hand and blew the dust away. He opened it in the middle and found painted pictures inside along with some text. Someone had drawn the yellow hair of a princess longer, so that it now reached the floor, and in a pond swam some additional fish in all sizes and colours. He browsed, until he suddenly stopped. There was a picture of a princess with black hair, surrounded by her court and apparently two knights were duelling for her. But he had only eyes for the small girl in the back who looked to her feet in a sullen expression, a metal band around her neck. This slave looked just like his Missandei, with her fizzy brown hair and sombre expression.

Grey Worm slowly touched the figure in the back and sighed. He loved her but thinking of her hurt because then he always worried if he would ever see her again…

Suddenly someone burst into his tent and ripped him out of his memories.

"The Queen," the Unsullied cried, "the Queen Cersei! She's on the wall and says if we don't join her, we will die!" He sounded overwhelmed by the situation, since he couldn't be afraid – an Unsullied has no fear.

Grey Worm was up and out of his tent in a second. The tents were farther away from the wall and the few battalions that stood guard in front of it. "Wake everybody!" he ordered and the other nodded and went away.

Soon, he feared, this place would be filled with Lannister soldiers, and he looked in front of him. It was rather dark, and he cursed the Westerosi manners of fighting in the night to surprise your enemies. This was not just.

He started to quickly make his way towards the battalions, looking at the potential danger in front of him. There were no torches on the capital's wall except for the ones around the queen, who stood in the middle of the wall, watching over them in calm composure, until suddenly a huge catapult was drawn closer, illuminated with as much light as possible.

Grey Worm frowned. Why would the enemy show them their weapons? He ran even faster to his men, many other Unsullied next to or behind him. He wanted to be with his troops before the battle started, to lead them through it as safely as possible.

Suddenly without any warning, the catapult was launched – and a huge… _something_ made its way to their field. Grey Worm stared at it until he realised with a shock that it was a huge dragon skull – with a spear in its forehead?

"Move!" he yelled to his men, but he was still too far away. _Almost there_, he told himself and sped up.

The dragon skull was glinting green, with one torch bound at the spear. Was this Cersei's way of showing them that dragons weren't invincible? Grey Worm wondered, but all of his thoughts left him, when the dragon skull reached the ground.

The Unsullied hadn't been able to move quickly enough, they were standing too close. But it did not matter in the end, for when the flame of the torchlight touched the skull, a huge green explosion singed the whole area and with all the men in it.

Grey Worm intuitively lifted his arms before his head, and although he wasn't very near to the explosion, he was hit by its wave with such force that he fell on his back, his arms and torso burning with the green fire. He doused it but it still hurt so intensely that he felt bile in his mouth.

_We need to leave!_ he wanted to shout but he couldn't think well, let alone speak coherently. _We need to evacuate. There might be more._

But when he looked over at the wall, he saw nothing but blackness. The queen was gone, all the torches were extinguished – it was over.

Grey Worm tried to stand – there were many who needed his help and guidance now! – but one push upwards, and he fell back onto the muddy snow of the camp, blacking out at once.


	3. Daenerys, Feelings

Chapter 3 – Daenerys – Feelings

When Dany woke, she was confused about why she was naked. She looked around and her gaze fell on a peacefully sleeping Jon Snow. An involuntary smile spread over her lips and almost automatically she laid her hand on his cheek, stroking it gently.

The last night had been incredible, although she had no idea what it meant. She didn't even know if Jon loved her or if she was in love with him. But it was clear to her that this spark that had always been between them could not have been contained any longer. The last night had been one full of passion and love, but also comfort and protection, and she had revelled to be in his strong arms…

Suddenly the man next to her stirred, smiled and opened his dark eyes.

Dany had found him beautiful from the very first moment they had met. His dark hair and eyes were so different from hers that it seemed exotic to her, and she had always been attracted towards diversity. But the more she had learned about the King in the North, the more he had also become beautiful from the inside.

"Good morning, my Queen," he smirked mockingly and although this was no way to treat his queen, Dany couldn't help herself but grin back at him.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked to cover her uncertainty. Of course, Jon was not the first men she woke up in bed with, but his presence felt completely new to her.

"Very well," he replied and kissed her hand. "And you?"

She merely nodded. When their eyes met, she suddenly tensed and took her hand away from him.

"What is it?" he frowned concernedly.

But Dany shook her head and climbed out of the bed, getting quickly into her dress from last night. She had suddenly understood why she had always liked his eyes so much: they were as dark and mysterious as Khal Drogo's.

She quickly swallowed her bad consciousness and tears down. Of course, there had been Daario Naharis after her husband had died, but that had been only sex, this… Jon… was different. She felt more for him than she had ever felt for Naharis, and while the latter had been merely for pleasure and the desires of her body, the former felt more like… love…

"What now?" Jon whispered then and looked at her with all the embarrassment and insecurity she felt herself.

"We'll see," she answered rather harshly; she needed some space from him. "For now, let's pretend nothing happened."

"But I don't want to," he told her and also climbed out of the bed – her bed, by the way! – to stand right in front of her, apparently, oblivious to his own nakedness.

"Well, since I am the Queen and you pledged your loyalty to me, there is nothing you can do about this." It was difficult to be so cross with him, but she knew she had to draw a line, at least for now.

"Please, Dany," he said confused, grabbing her arm so she couldn't escape. "I don't understand. I thought you wanted this as much as I did."

She closed her eyes in inner frustration. She hated not knowing what to do! She hated being weak! She hated feeling so guilty! Sighing loudly, she looked at her friend and lover with all the coldness her violet eyes could come up with. "I want you to leave me alone for the next few days. Is that understood?"

He blinked rapidly but then nodded and let go of her, stepping a few feet backwards.

Dany took her chance and fled the room, although it was _her_ room, but she needed some fresh air as soon as possible!

She ran on the upper decks of the ship, stood at its railing and looked over the grey waves and the stormy clouds. Icy wind ruffled her hair but being the Mother of Dragons, she rarely felt cold. It was so early in the morning that there was no one else outside and the sun had just started to climb over the horizon, trying his best to get passed the unforgiving ceiling of dark clouds.

Why did everything have to be so complicated! she thought bitterly. All she had wanted was to reclaim the Iron Throne, bring peace to Westeros and be together with her husband and son… And now her husband and son were dead, a queen – madder than her father – sat on the Throne, bringing terror wherever she or her large army went, and the White Walkers threatened to destroy every living form on the continent! They had killed one of her children! Viserion was gone forever! And then there was the matter with Jon Snow…

"Urgh!" she cried in frustration and threw her arms in the air.

"Don't let this see your subjects, my Queen."

She didn't even have to turn around to know whose sarcastic remark this was. "Not now, Tyrion. I'm not in the mood for teasing."

The Hand of the Queen went to stand next to her, both looking over the sea in companionable silence for a while.

"Would you care for some advice?" Tyrion finally said.

"You don't even know what makes me this frustrated," Dany spat back. She really wasn't in the mood for anything right now.

"Oh, but I do."

She frowned at him, he looked right back at her with most sincere eyes.

Finally, she sighed. "And what should I do?" she asked annoyed.

He didn't smile when he answered her, so he was for once in his life not mocking. "Well, whatever you do in your private life, better keep it quiet. We don't want some people to lose their heads because of a broken heart, don't we?"

At first, she only glanced at him irritated, then she suddenly knew to whom he was referring.

Jorah.

Dear, poor Jorah. Her oldest and best friend of all. He would gladly take a knife for her although he knew that Dany would never return his love.

This thought – of how she would hurt him, again, if he ever found out – was the final straw to her strength, and she started to shed some tears silently. She didn't cry often but even she wasn't made of Valyrian steel…

She soon felt Tyrion's hand pet her back, comforting though awkwardly. Looking at him, swiftly wiping her cheeks dry again, she whispered: "I just don't know what to do."

"Maybe, we should first deal with the White Walkers and afterwards with the King in the North." He smiled lightly at her, and she nodded in agreement, glad that she had a friend as her Hand.


	4. Jon, People

Chapter 4 – Jon – People

Jon was glad to be back on the mainland finally. He probably would never get used to sailing and he preferred riding a horse as he was doing at that moment.

Daenerys was riding next to him – also on a horse although her dragons were still flying above their heads – and together they rode to Winterfell. They had decided this path to show the people that they were a union, that this was not a foreign invasion of their land but instead a welcomed alliance between two of the three most powerful families of Westeros. And since Tyrion rode a few metres behind them, even the third family was present. The wolf, the dragon, and the lion were not at each other's throats but holding hands instead, figuratively speaking, of course.

Yes, they wanted to be a unity, and Jon had hoped he and Daenerys could be more than merely political allies… But the Dragon Queen hadn't spoken to him in three days, since they had woken up together. She had avoided him as good as possible on such a small ship, and when Jon had tried to speak with her, she had either ignored him completely, almost running away from him or had looked at him with her icy gaze. He had no idea how that was possible but the Mother of Dragons who could stand in a burning fire without even scorching her hair, could produce such ice-cold eyes that he froze on the spot and let her pass without trying to stop her. He was at his wit's end and hoped for better chances of talking when they would have reached Winterfell.

He knew that she wanted him to think that she didn't like him anymore, but he could see right through her façade. She was afraid, but he had no idea what she was afraid of, and since she didn't talk to him, he had no possibility of finding out. He had even considered asking Tyrion for some advice, but he knew that the Hand would never betray his Queen's trust, that was if he _did_ know something, of course.

And worst of all, last night he had dreamt of Ygritte and their wonderful time in the cave, and how she had later died in his arms… There could have been no worse timing for this dream than now! He had been under the impression that he was over his first love but apparently, his mind evaluated differently. And now he was automatically comparing the two women, his only lovers, although he had never wanted to. He was just glad that Dany had no idea what he was thinking right now, riding next to her.

Their mission to show the people of the North how considerate their new Queen was, succeeded in a small town on their way from White Harbor to Winterfell. Since the people here were accustomed to the Bolton's reign the last years before the Starks took the North back, they didn't know kindness very well, so persuading them of someone reliable became easier than imagined.

It all started with an old woman running to Jon and begging: "King in the North, please, we need your help. All our wells are frozen and there is so much snow on the paths around the town that we cannot get enough food from the farmers. We're starving!"

He was thunderstruck at first – how was he supposed to solve these problems?! – when he suddenly felt a hand on his arm.

Dany was smiling at him. "Allow me?" she asked sweetly as if there had never been any dispute between them, but he knew that this was an act for the townspeople and nothing more.

He nodded, trying to hide his hurt though his heart pounded faster in hope.

Without acknowledging him in any way, she rode towards the middle of the simple market place.

The people backed away, creating an open field with the main well of the town in its centre.

The Dragon Queen looked around her into the suspicious or fearful faces of the townspeople, then into the grey sky above her. With her powerful voice she called: "Drogon!", and the biggest dragon of the two came to her like a dog to its master.

The people screamed and ran away, hiding behind the houses, stalls, and even Jon, when the gigantic beast landed on the market place, only inches away from his mother.

Daenerys smiled at the dragon and then told him something in High Valyrian.

Jon had no idea what was going on (he didn't speak any other language than the Common Tongue) but he was as intrigued as the few people around him brave enough to creep closer and find out what was happening.

The dragon seemed to understand the order at once, for he turned around, moved to the well, looked inside it as if he wanted to drink – and the next second flames erupted through his mouth, into the well, hit the icy surface and went back into the sky along the dragon's head without leaving even a mark on his scales.

Dany said something else and the dragon flew back into the air where he came from, to join his brother Rhaegal. She then turned towards the frightened but also curious people and announced loudly so that everyone could hear her: "The well has been thawed. See for yourself."

She smiled at Jon encouragingly who knew he had to be the one to approach her first, to show his people that she meant no harm. He also knew, that her smile at him was once more not real.

He rode towards the well, peeked inside, saw water instead of ice, and confirmed what had happened to the townspeople, who slowly crept closer.

"I will also tell my army," Dany continued, "to shovel away all the snow that is in the way. As long as I am here and as long as you have Jon Snow, no one will starve!"

The crowd started to applause, to say thanks, and finally cheer at their new Queen.

"That was easier than expected," Jon admitted to her as they continued their way a few hours later.

She smiled at him triumphantly. "Well, I've always had my way with the needs of the people." Then she rode next to Tyrion and talked with her Hand about something, but it seemed to Jon that she had started to forgive him for whatever he had done.


	5. Grey Worm, Cold

Chapter 5 – Grey Worm – Cold

Despite the high fever Grey Worm was running and the many blankets he was under, he shivered from the cold. The few snowflakes that had been falling in King's Landing were here, only a few days north, already a thick blanket of snow. Many of his men had been terrified by the weather phenomenon at first, so he had shown them that it was nothing else than frozen water. It looked beautiful in the landscape, he had to admit, but it was still awfully cold and uncomfortable when it reached your skin or melted through your shoes. Although Daenerys had provided them with many blankets, furs, and leather, it was still a too drastic change for their sun and warmth used bodies, that already 23 had died on their journey on the King's Road. Three had fallen into an ice-cold stream and had frozen to death only yesterday.

_And I'll be next_, Grey Worm thought and looked down at his arms and torso. The wounds the strange green fire had caused, were not healing properly. They had a healer with them but even he had no idea.

"If it were summer, I'd knew the right herbs for that," he had said. "But now… in winter…"

After the attack on the Unsullied with the dragon skull, when Grey Worm had woken up again, he had done everything in his power to evacuate his men as soon as possible – although his body had hurt as if he had been put into a bathtub full of fire for many days.

Some of his men had told him to lie down, to heal, but he had ignored them. He was the Commander of the Unsullied, he was responsible for them, he would always try to protect them, no matter what. And he had to help the few wounded that had survived the blow of the green explosion – the others had burnt to ashes, unrecognisable.

_Maybe I should have listened to my men_, he thought now. _Maybe I should have saved my strength._

He had already spoken with his second in command, Sheep Shit, and had told him what he should do when Grey Worm… was gone. There would be no loose ends after his death. It seemed that every Unsullied was replaceable after all.

They had sent a raven to Dragonstone the next morning after the attack, and he hoped that Daenerys would send help and that she would be prepared, for what this other 'queen' could do to them. This had been everything he had been able to do for her now.

He didn't know if – or when – he would die, but he knew that breathing and staying awake became more difficult with every minute. And he detested this weather so much, he felt so cold all the time, he almost wanted it all to be gone so he didn't have to suffer anymore. If only his Missandei were here. She would make him warm again and nurse him as she had after the Sons of the Harpy had wounded him. He missed her tremendously, now more than ever, and feared he would never see her again.

_I'm sorry I've failed you, my love_, he thought ashamed of himself. _I'm sorry I've failed you, my Queen._

An icy wind rushed through the camp and he looked to the entrance of his tent where the covers were flown apart. There it was – his current most hated and feared enemy: the winter. And as if to mock him, a few snowflakes made their way into his tent, until they landed on his hand.


	6. Daenerys, Trust

Chapter 6 – Daenerys – Trust

"We're almost there," Jon told her gesturing towards the big castle at the horizon, the only black thing in an otherwise complete grey-white environment.

Dany merely nodded. Winterfell couldn't come sooner – she was freezing, despite being the Dragonqueen but this weather had been cooler than expected. She had never seen snow before going to Westeros (as hadn't the Dothraki and Unsullied, of course) and now she was surrounded by the white sticky stuff which melted to water when it touched her skin. Luckily, they had left Dragonstone well prepared, thanks to Jon's and Tyrion's foresight, and so she and her army wore thick furry coats that prevented them if not from shivering, at least from dying. She hadn't noticed how cold the North could be when she had ventured beyond the Wall to save Jon and the rest because she had been riding on Drogon whose scales always radiated some warmth, no matter the outside temperatures. Furthermore, her bottom and legs started to hurt from days of riding a horse; she definitely preferred a dragon.

"What's that?" Ser Jorah suddenly exclaimed alarmed.

Dany turned her head, for he was riding behind her, and saw him pointing towards the edge of the forest which started after a huge meadow, all covered in snow, of course. She squinted her eyes but couldn't make out the danger. "I don't see anything," she finally admitted.

Jorah rode next to her. "Is that… a wolf?" he asked incredulously, still staring at the forest.

Only when the beast stirred could she make out its form. Yes, it seemed to be a wolf, white, therefore cunningly camouflaged in the snow, – but weren't they normally smaller? "Jon?" she asked tentatively. Winterfell was his home, so he should know best what to do. But Jon wasn't at her side anymore.

He had dismounted his horse and went through the thick snow onto the field, his arms wide open, a huge grin on his face.

Suddenly the wolf sprinted forward, directly towards the King in the North.

"Jon!" Dany cried in alarm but she felt a reassuring hand on her arm. She looked at the face of her Hand, who was smiling reassuringly.

"Don't worry, my Queen. Everything is alright."

Still with alarm in her eyes, she watched as the wolf ran to Jon – and then collided with him, so they both fell into the snow.

"No!" she gasped in horror and also dismounted her horse, taking a few steps towards the open field, wishing she had a sword in her hand and knew how to use it. She had no idea what to do but she couldn't do nothing, so she turned around to the others. "Please, Ser Jorah, Ser Davos, Tyrion," she pleaded fearfully. "Please, someone help him!"

Ser Jorah was next to her, his sword drawn in an instant, but the other two remained calmly on their horses.

"Nothin' to worry about, my Queen," Davos replied happily. "Listen."

Dany looked back at Jon and the wolf, and then she heard what Ser Davos meant: Jon was laughing joyfully, saying: "I've missed you, old friend." She sighed in relief. Jon wasn't suicidal, so if he didn't consider the situation dangerous, then the probability of any real danger couldn't be high.

After a while, Jon stood up again, brushed the snow from his coat, and started his way back to them – along with the gigantic wolf.

"Wait!" Dany called to him. "What are you doing?" She went slowly backwards. Surely, he wasn't thinking about bringing this beast to her?!

"It's just Ghost," Jon grinned at her.

But before Dany could reply anything, suddenly Drogon landed in front of her, blocking Jon's way and staring aggressively towards the wolf, roaring loudly. For a moment, there was stunned silence, only broken by the dragon's loud breathing and the wolf's growling, then an almost timid:

"Um, Daenerys?" Jon spoke. "Could you please tell your dragon not to eat us? I can assure you that Ghost won't hurt you or anyone else."

"He's right," Tyrion confirmed, tensely. "Please, we still need him."

Dany nodded, still in fear of the wolf on the other side, but, of course, she didn't want Drogon to injure, or worse, kill Jon. "Drogon," she called the dragon, trying to sound as calm as possible. "There is no danger," she told him in High Valyrian. "Thank you for your protection but now you can fly back to Rhaegal. Everything is alright."

The dragon turned its head to her, she nodded affirmatively, trying to smile joyfully, and finally, he tensed his legs and pushed himself off the ground and into the sky.

It seemed everyone sighed in relief.

"Well," Tyrion joked, "never mess with a Dragonqueen."

But Dany didn't listen, her gaze was still upon Jon and the wolf who were merely 20 metres away.

"May we proceed?" Jon asked her now, one hand on the neck of the wolf, as if he had tried to hold him back – she doubted that was even possible with such a beast! "I swear that nothing will happen to you. Trust me."

And it was his last sentence that gave her the courage to nod. She did trust him, with all her heart, although she wasn't sure if that was wise…

When the wolf was only five metres away from her, Jon ordered it to stay with a raised hand, and it obeyed instantly. The King in the North then proceeded alone until he stood in front of her.

"What is that beast?" she inquired in a mixture of awe and fear. The wolf was so big his head could reach Jon's upper arm, his fur as white as the snow around them, his eyes gleaming in a dangerous and unnatural red.

"A direwolf. They are the sigil of the Starks. This one is mine; his name is Ghost." Jon smiled smugly at her. "He's beautiful, isn't he?"

"Not what I had in mind," she murmured, remembering their conversation as well about her dragons a few weeks previous on Dragonstone.

"You know," Jon began to explain, "one day, before everything fell apart, I went into the woods with my brothers and father, and there we found five direwolf puppies, their mother dead, two girls and three boys. It was decided that each Stark child would get one puppy." He gave her a bitter smile. "Since I'm the bastard, I didn't get one, of course. But then we found another one, a white one, secluded from the rest." He looked towards the wolf beside him who returned the gaze. "And that was Ghost."

It was only then that Dany realised why this beast was so important to him; like her dragons were to her.

Suddenly he held out his hand to her. "Give me your hand," he said gently.

"Why?" she replied warily, suppressing her fear but her eyes were still fixed on the white wolf who stared back at her with these strange red eyes. Only when Jon chuckled, did she look at him. "What?" she demanded to know. No one was allowed to laugh at the Queen!

"The Mother of Dragons is afraid of a direwolf! And _my_ direwolf above all," he laughed but it didn't sound mean.

"It's not funny," she hissed – she hated being afraid and seeming weak! – but she heard Tyrion chuckle, too. Sighing she gave Jon her hand and let herself be led to the huge white wolf. A Queen wasn't allowed to be afraid of anything!

"Do you wish me to accompany you?" Jorah asked but she shook her head. For one, she did trust Jon, and for two, she doubted that even Ser Jorah could win against a direwolf; to be honest she doubted that anyone could win against this beast – except for her dragons, of course.

With every further step towards the wolf her heart rate accelerated, and she distinctly noticed the soothing circles that Jon was drawing on her hand – although maybe this only accumulated the speed of her pulse…

Merely a metre stood now between her and the direwolf, but luckily Jon stopped.

"Daenerys, this is Ghost," he introduced them. "Ghost, this is Dany." He winked at her when she looked annoyed at him – as if the wolf would call her 'Dany'…

"You may pet him now," Jon continued.

"No, I think I'm good," she quickly replied. She was glad that only Jon could hear her cowardice now; everyone else had stayed back.

"Dany," he tried to reason with her. "If you want the people of the North to except you, you can't be afraid of their patron. I tried to be friends with your dragons, for heaven's sake! Be brave, Mother of Dragons."

She slowly nodded and Jon neared her hand towards the head of the direwolf.

Ghost stayed still only watching her through his uncanny red eyes, but when her hand touched the soft fur on his head, he turned his head – and started to lick her hand.

Dany wanted to retrieve her hand in surprise and fear, but Jon held it firmly in place.

"See," he smiled. "Like I told you – nothing to worry about. He likes you."

Slowly the tension was lifted from her and she started to grin and finally laugh in joy as the direwolf nuzzled her side, while Jon still held her hand warmly and strongly in his. She looked up at him, saw his warm eyes and lovely smile, and wondered if it had been wrong of her to shun him after their shared night.


	7. Sansa, Reunion

Chapter 7 – Sansa – Reunion

Sansa stood in the yard in front of the main gate of Winterfell, waiting for Jon's arrival. A scout had seen the procession at the forest, so it couldn't be long anymore. She breathed deeply in and out and tried to calm her nerves, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles on her dress.

"Why are you nervous?" Arya stepped beside her sister, both watching the gate now.

"I'm not nervous. Why should I be nervous?" she replied a bit too hasty.

"Yes, why." Arya looked at her sister, nodding towards her hands. "But you're fidgeting with your hands, so you're obviously nervous."

Sansa quickly put her hands behind her back, but she knew she couldn't fool her sister.

"Come on, tell me," Arya urged.

Sansa sighed. "It's because I'm going to see Tyrion again."

Arya frowned. "Is that bad? I thought he was always good to you."

"Yes, that's it exactly!" she replied frustrated. "He was the only one in King's Landing who was kind to me and how did I repay him? I ran away when he was accused of Joffrey's murder and married someone else!" She felt so ashamed of herself and often wished she could go back in time and be a better friend to him.

"Do you think he did it?"

"What?"

"Kill Joffrey."

Sansa appalled a bit. This was all her sister was interested nowadays: death and murder… "No, I don't believe it was him. As bad as Joffrey treated him, he was still his nephew. And to be honest, I don't think he has the heart to murder anyone. Kill an opponent in battle, yes, but poisoning someone on their own wedding, no."

"Although he is a Lannister, of course," Arya argued, "and as we know they are quite keen on killing people on a wedding! Besides, it is rumoured he killed his own father, too." It wasn't the first time that Arya spoke ill of Tyrion, and Sansa had already found out the reason behind it: when Arya had been in Braavos, she had watched a play where Tyrion was portrayed horribly. It was difficult to erase the picture her sister had of her first husband now although she constantly tried. And Sansa was absolutely furious that, of course, the play had used the Imp as a scapegoat!

"No, Arya," Sansa quickly intervened. "Tyrion's last name might be 'Lannister' but he is no _real_ Lannister. And I don't believe in such terrible rumours, especially coming from King's Landing. He is a good person, you'll see."

Suddenly her sister grinned at her. "Well, if he's not a _real_ Lannister and as good as you say, what do you have to fear then?"

_That he might hate me…_, Sansa thought but wasn't brave enough to say it out loud. She wasn't sure why Tyrion's opinion mattered so much to her, but she felt awful that she had left her husband and friend in his greatest hour of need (although she didn't know it at that time) and that she had let herself manipulate by Littlefinger and persuade into a marriage with Ramsay Bolton…

Even thinking about her second husband made her feel sick and whenever she could she looked towards the dog kennels to reassure herself that this monster was gone forever!

"You're excited to see Jon?" she quickly asked Arya to distract herself from her dark thoughts. If at least the sun would shine once in a while… This grey weather was making her depressed. Fortunately enough it wasn't snowing at the moment.

Her sister grinned widely. "You bet, I do."

"I just can't understand why he would bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen…" She was still furious about the actions of her half-brother but she was willing to wait for his explanations before she yelled at him.

"Well, I believe there are only two options," Arya replied and once more Sansa realised how much her sister has grown into an adult who had seen the ways of the world. "Either the Dragon Queen is such a tyrant that Jon had no other choice, or she is so lovely that he followed her gladly. Whatever the case, we'll soon know and can try to improve the situation if necessary."

Sansa nodded. She hoped for the second cause, naturally, but she had never encountered any good King or Queen in her life, so she couldn't believe that this Daenerys was any better…

Suddenly they heard a loud roar and the next moment two gigantic dragons flew over Winterfell. Sansa sucked in a breath in terror and was glad when the beasts were gone a second later, while Arya's joyous face made her look like a child again.

It was then the trumpets announced the arrival of their guests and not long hereafter the King in the North rode into Winterfell, followed by a few others either on horseback or foot.

"JON!" Arya shouted gleefully and ran to him.

Jon blinked in a moment of surprise but jumped from his horse and hugged his little half-sister as if he wanted to crush her.

Laughing in joy Sansa joined them.

Jon looked at her, still hugging Arya. "A part of me didn't believe that Arya was actually back when you wrote me," he laughed, tears in his eyes.

"Yes," Sansa grinned. "And Bran is also back." Although… No, no need to tell Jon right away that their brother wasn't himself anymore. He would find out soon enough.

Not many other riders had followed Jon through the gates; the army would make their camp on the fields outside of Winterfell. The first Sansa noticed was a beautiful woman with long white-blond hair and violet eyes. _This must be her!_ she thought instantly.

So, Sansa remembered her responsibilities as Lady of Winterfell and went to the woman. "Welcome to Winterfell, Daenerys Targaryen." She wasn't sure how to call her (definitely not 'Queen', not until she had all the information from Jon), so she settled on her full name.

Daenerys looked at her for a moment, then she smiled a dazzling smile and replied: "Thank you for your hospitality. You must be Sansa. Jon has told me so much about you all."

The look the Mother of Dragons gave Jon after that took Sansa by surprise and made her also suspicious. It seemed as if she was… very fond of Jon, maybe too fond. That could be dangerous; she had to warn her brother before it was too late!

Jon came to them and talked to Daenerys, asking her politely to follow him inside and offering her dragons the Godswood for their stay. They went along with Arya, Ser Davos, a fierce looking warrior, a girl with frizzy hair, and another rather old man with a beard.

Sansa turned around to face the servants, maybe she could assist them where to feed the horses, bring the trunks, etc. – when she finally saw _him_. He had dismounted his horse, so she hadn't been able to see him before, with all these people standing between them.

For a moment they only starred at each other, neither knew how to proceed. But when Sansa saw the same nervousness and agony in his face that she felt herself, she had the courage to move towards him.

"My Lord, welcome to Winterfell," she said stiffly, but at least she had said something, and something that wasn't embarrassing!

He watched her for a moment longer, then he took her hand, placed a small kiss on it, showing his respect, and smiled. "My dear Sansa, how often must I tell you to call me 'Tyrion'?"

It was suddenly as if they were back in King's Landing, as if they were still married, as if nothing had changed, and Sansa felt such a relief that he didn't hate her that she started to laugh.

"Yes, Tyrion, I will try to improve in the future."

"Wonderful," he replied in good humour. He looked around and grinned. "It's good to see you home."

"We finally both escaped the hell that is called 'King's Landing'," Sansa replied severely, remembering in an instant all the horrors, all the humiliation they had to endure for years.

"Yes," he sighed and looked sadder than she had ever seen him. "Yes, we have at last."

For a while, they remained silent, until Sansa suddenly exclaimed: "You grew a beard," and blushed the next second. Of all the things to say… How could she be so insensitive? There would have been so many better, politer things to say, like: 'It's nice to see you again', or 'I hope the journey was acceptable', or 'May I show you inside?'

But Tyrion saw her in the eyes, smiled and spoke sincerely: "And you grew into a beautiful young woman."

Now she blushed because of his compliment. She then bid him inside into the Great Hall where Jon would soon address his bannermen and explain what had happened with Daenerys. Suddenly she realised, that if the alliance broke, she and Tyrion would be on opposing sides. But for now, she was glad that he had no hard feelings regarding her.


	8. Jon, Speech

Chapter 8 – Jon – Speech

The Great Hall of Winterfell was packed with Northmen and women. All the Stark's bannermen were there, and most of them looked if not hostile at least wary.

Jon took a calming breath. This would be difficult…

"It'll be alright," Arya, who sat next to him, told him and smiled at him reassuringly. It had been a tremendous joy to see his little sister again. For all he knew she could have died many years ago after their father's execution. But here she was, already a woman grown.

His gaze went over to Sansa, the perfect Lady of Winterfell, and Bran in his wheelchair. Bran had changed the most because unlike his sisters he did not only grow into an adult, but the loving, caring and good-hearted child that Jon remembered had turned into an indifferent and withdrawn person. Jon had to find out soon what had happened to the boy that had changed him the most drastically of the Stark children.

After the meeting, of course.

"My lords, my ladies," Jon spoke loudly from the head table where he and his siblings sat. Finally, four Stark children were back in Winterfell. It was a miracle no one had thought possible anymore.

The room quietened, and the North people looked at him tensely, waiting for his explanation. To better deal with them, Jon had asked Dany and her council to stay out of the room for the moment, so the bannermen could speak freely. Even better, because Tyrion was a Lannister and Jorah a slave trader who had been sentenced to death by Ned Stark himself. Two more people no one wanted in the North… When had all of this began to be this complicated?!

"My lords, my ladies. I am glad to be back in Winterfell with you and I am relieved to hear that the preparations for the fight against the White Walkers are well proceeding." He nodded to Sansa in gratitude; she smiled proudly. "I am also happy to tell you that I have come back with a huge amount of dragonglass which we can use against the Others."

"Yes, along with a new queen!" one of the Glovers shouted, followed by agreeing murmur.

Jon sighed inwardly. This would be tremendously difficult, as well as dangerous. He had to ponder every word carefully. "Yes, Queen Daenerys has accompanied me and is aiding us in our fight for life." The angry voices rose again, so he continued quickly. "I know that you are not happy with my allegiance with the Queen, but I will try to explain why I bent the knee."

Apparently, he still possessed enough authority in the North, for his bannermen fell silent and looked at him expectantly.

"Daenerys Targaryen is not the foreign invader you believe her to be. She is not only the true Queen of Westeros by her birth right but also the best choice I could think of. She is warm-hearted and caring on the one hand, but a strict and fierce ruler on the other hand. She doesn't want to rule over the ashes, so her dragons won't burn cities to the ground. She wants a new, a better life for everyone, not only the wealthy and powerful. And she has agreed to help us fight the White Walkers, although she has already taken a heavy personal blow in the fight we had north of the Wall against the Army of the Dead a few weeks ago."

A few faces lifted their gloominess and hatred, but many others remained like this.

"I can promise you," Jon continued, "I am still your King in the North. I am still here to protect and guide you all. And even if you aren't happy with the current situation – which I can completely understand – I want you to overlook it for now, so that we can all concentrate on our fight against the real enemy." He waited for any outbursts, any storming out or even drawn swords, but the men only mumbled to each other, until a small girl stood up and came to his rescue once again.

"He is right," Lyanna Mormont spoke loudly, all the bannermen looked at her anticipatingly. How did it come that a small girl had more reason and authority and bravery than any grown men in this room…? "I don't like the Dragon Queen, I admit it, but I know what is the most important issue right now: defeating the Dead. Then we can still negotiate or even fight if we want to. But for now, I agree with the King in the North, and so I declare that House Mormont will not abandon this war out of selfish reasons."

After this declaration, the other Houses followed swiftly. No one wanted to seem selfish, and Jon was grateful to the young girl for always finding the right words.

"I thank you for your understanding," he told them in the end. "If there is ever anything on your mind, you are free to speak to me; I will not ignore your concerns or advise." He nodded and the meeting was over.

"That went better than expected," Sam told him and smiled in relief.

"Although I'm still not convinced that the peace will last," Sansa added and watched some Umbers leave the Hall with heavy frowns on their faces.

"It only has to last until the White Walkers are defeated," Jon replied tiredly. "After that, there will be enough humans left to start another war…."

"If that happens, I'm back in Essos," Arya murmured, and Jon agreed with her silently.

He often wondered at the stupidity of mankind and would certainly not stay if the world didn't change after this drastic experience. Given he survived, of course…

"Well, I want you to know," Sansa then spoke, "that I am still a bit upset with you for bending the knee. But," she continued quickly as he opened his mouth to intervene, "as you once said: we need to trust each other, and I am hereby trusting you." She smiled at him lightly.

"Thank you," he replied sincerely. "By the way, where is Littlefinger?"

Sansa blanched slightly, but Arya smirked. "We executed him for treason," she told him proudly. "It was he who brought despair between the Lannisters and the Starks in the first place, and it was he who hired the assassin to kill Bran, and who betrayed Father when he moved against Joffrey."

"He will rot now in the Seven Hells," Sansa spat bitterly.

Jon gulped at this news and at his sisters' reactions; apparently, he had missed quite a bit when he had been gone. But before he could ask some questions about what had happened exactly, Queen Daenerys entered the Hall along with her most trusted advisers.

She looked warily when she went to him. "I take it the meeting is over?" she asked matter-of-factly and nodded towards the bannermen still left in the hall who were talking with each other and the open door where most had already left.

"Yes," Jon told her and was surprised by his cold tone. It seemed that her indifference to him hurt him more than he knew. Especially after such a long and emotionally draining day.

"And?"

"They will cooperate."

"Cooperate?" She didn't sound happy with this. "I hope you have told them that I am their Queen now. You did bend the knee after all, and that included the whole North!"

Jon felt rage boiling in him but it was Tyrion who came to his help.

"Your Grace," he said in his best diplomatic voice. "This is more than we could have wished for. The Northern people are a proud and traditional people who can be quite stubborn when it comes to new ideas or leaderships. No offence," he added quickly, grinning awkwardly at the Stark children, especially Arya whose eyes had become murderous.

"None taken," Sansa offered quickly and the Hand of the Queen continued to mitigate his sometimes quite demanding queen.

"_There is no King in the North whose name isn't Stark_," he quoted the saying of the Northern bannermen, which made Jon think of the scrawly script of Lyanna Mormont a few years ago. "I propose that for the time being we ignore the political complications and let Jon Snow _seem_ to be the leader of the North, while you, of course, are the true ruler."

"You really want me to give up my position to_ him_?" she wanted to know and looked at Jon with a small amount of contempt for the first time.

Now it definitely hurt. He would have never thought her to be this prejudiced against a bastard. She, who made a dwarf her Hand, who's female assistant was a former slave, and whose best friend was a former slave trader. But it seemed as if 'bastard' was where she drew her acceptance line….

"That's what I've told my bannermen," Jon said and tried to sound impassive.

Daenerys stared at him with narrowed eyes.

"Khaleesi," Jorah spoke in a hushed voice and touched her arm lightly to calm her down. "They're right. We first have to deal with the Undead and then we can still worry about who's in power. Please," he added when she didn't react.

"Fine," she sighed in the end. "But there will never be any questioning of my authority in public."

"Of course, not," Jon replied and couldn't hide the sarcasm in his voice. "We just have some time pressure and can't allow such simple matters as leadership to stand in our way. Winter is here."

It seemed not even Daenerys knew how to respond without being rude, so they stared at each other in tensed silence.

"Your Grace," Sansa spoke into the silence and it was clear to Jon from her tone that she would now fulfil her duties as Lady of Winterfell. "You and your party must be tired from your long journey. May I accompany you to your rooms so you can refresh yourselves before the feast in your honour starts?" She even smiled such a sincere and polite smile that not even Jon could decipher if it was genuine or not.

Dany, to probably all they relief, thanked Sansa for her offer and consented to be guided through Winterfell, her council members not far behind her.

Arya slipped almost unnoticed out of the Hall and vanished to Gods knew where.

Jon followed them in case anything happened – he didn't like to leave his little sister alone with the Mother of Dragons, despite her talent to manage the affairs of Winterfell well.

Sansa and Daenerys tried some small talk, but the tension was palpable, so it was up to Tyrion to add amiable comments about how wonderful he liked the castle, his admiration for snow, what had changed since the last time he had visited, etc., so that the conversation wouldn't die.

"So, um, this way is the Family Wing, and through this corridor, we'll enter the wing with the guest rooms," Sansa explained after a while and wanted to proceed when she was stopped.

"You don't mean to tell me that you intend on putting me into one of the guest quarters, do you?" Daenerys frowned.

Jon sighed. That was exactly what he had feared might happen and before his sister found a diplomatic answer, he quickly agreed to the Queen's wishes: "Of course, not, your Grace, please follow me." It would hurt no one to fulfil her this wish. Although he didn't like her way of always demanding the best, especially in someone else's home.

He gestured gallantly for her to enter the Family Wing, and she obeyed with a thankful smile, taking Missandei with her, while Sansa showed the rest to the guest rooms.

"I'd like to have her room next to mine if that's alright with you?" she asked with a shy smile that captured him once more. Here she was his Dany again, the lovely girl, and not the fierce and sometimes quite arrogant Queen she had been throughout their journey.

"Of course," he replied and smiled tentatively at her.

They walked through the torch-lit corridors until they reached the family quarters.

"I believe it seems fit for a queen such as our wonderful Breaker of Chains to have the master bedroom," Missandei let him know and it was the first time he had heard her speak since their arrival in Winterfell.

"Well, I'm afraid, that won't work," he told her, smiling apologetically. "You see, Sansa has taken it and after everything that has happened to her, I wouldn't want her to move into a room she doesn't like." Not to mention that the castle belonged to her more or less.

"Then what about the second biggest room?" Dany inquired.

"That's Arya's room. I can ask her."

At that moment his youngest sister swept past them, as silent as a shadow and as if she had only waited for her cue word. "Definitely not," she said without looking at either of them and went into her room, closing the door firmly behind her.

"You can have my room," Jon spoke quickly into the shocked silence before Dany could dwell on his sister's rudeness. "I assure you it is equally grand, and there is another room right next to it which Missandei can use." It was Robb's old room. But since Winterfell had been almost completely destroyed and was afterwards reigned by the Bolton's, there were no old belongings left by any of the Stark family, so nothing to remember his fallen brother. It wasn't Robb's room anymore. It was just a room now.

Jon showed the ladies their new quarters and they seemed to be pleased by them.

"Where will you sleep if I am occupying your room?" Dany asked him with a what he hoped genuinely concerned voice.

It touched him to hear her care about him, but then he noticed her blushed cheeks and wondered if she'd like him to share the room and bed with her again… "I will find another room," he answered politely. Maybe Theon's old room? Or one of the guest rooms? If all things broke, he could share with Arya; they had always been the best of friends, and he deeply believed that nothing had changed despite the many years they had spent apart. "Until later then," he wished them goodbye and went back along the corridor.

He heard the doors close behind him and sighed in relief, walking slower and more crouched. What a difficult day, full of complicated and mostly unnecessary negotiations, while the danger was probably only leagues away…

Another door on the corridor was open a gap and with a sudden shock, he realised it was Rickon's old room. For a moment he imagined that his smallest brother had only forgotten to close his door and was playing peacefully with his favourite toy – a wooden knight on his horse. The little boy had like so many other boys always dreamed of becoming a knight…

Jon smiled warmly at that memory, before his smile faltered as he remembered the last time he had seen the boy, so much grown, but still only a little boy – when Ramsay Bolton had shot an arrow through his body. Rickon had been only a few metres away from him, Jon, and he hadn't been able to save the little one…

As if in a dream, Jon opened slowly the door and stepped inside. To his great surprise, the room hadn't changed much. There was still Rickon's favourite fur of a bear on the bed, and his self-made wooden wolf with a fur out of leaves stood on the night table. (No one had been able to guess what he had crafted except for his mother who knew best what was going on in the small boy's mind.) Even a small fire was burning in the chimney. The room looked livelier than he had ever expected.

He stepped further into the room, leaving the door open behind him. He looked around in awe how little had changed, how wonderful it was to have Rickon's presence so clearly in this room – until he saw it. The wooden knight on his horse. The knight stood on the windowsill, looking out of it into the rising darkness of the afternoon as if he was waiting for his friend to return to play with him again.

Almost afraid that the small figure would disappear any moment, Jon stepped towards it and took it gently into his hands. He could see the traces of many joyful adventurous afternoons in form of dirt and splinters in the wood, but it reminded him even more of his little brother. One time Rickon had even taken the toy with him into the Godswood where it had fallen into the pond. He had cried and shouted loudly until Robb had fished it out again. After that Rickon had never taken the knight out of his room again, in fear of losing him forever…

Tears stung in Jon's eyes as he pondered what this little boy could have achieved in the future if it hadn't been for a nasty bastard who had tried to hurt the Starks for just his fun.

"I had let it be refurbished," Sansa said in a quiet voice. "So that it would look like it used to again."

Jon hadn't even noticed she had entered. He quickly dried his eyes and smiled at her. "It's wonderful." He held up the little knight. "Where did you find it? I would have thought the Boltons destroyed every trace of us."

Sansa came closer and indicated towards the bed. "Under there. It seems as if they cared more for making a mess than proper destruction."

He stepped to the bed and touched the bear fur.

"This I found in Lady Bolton's old chamber," Sansa explained. "Since she was the only decent person of them all, I decided it wouldn't harm Rickon's memory to bring it back here."

Jon nodded, new tears forming in his eyes.

"It's all my fault," Sansa suddenly sobbed and looked at him devastated. "If I hadn't run away from Ramsay, he never would have felt the urge to seek revenge in this cruel manner. It's my fault Rickon's dead." The last word was lost in her teary voice.

Jon and his eldest sister had never been close but after everything they had endured, the bonds of family were stronger than ever. He quickly went to her and took her in his arms. "Ramsay Bolton was one of the cruellest and sickest persons in history," Jon told her firmly, stroking over her back. "He would have done it anyway, even if you had been standing by his side as his loyal wife at that moment. It was his kind of games he liked to play." He loosened himself a bit so he could look her in the eyes. "So, listen to me. Nothing that has happened is your fault! It's his! Everything is Ramsay's fault! Do you understand me?"

She nodded her eyes full of tears, before falling back against his chest in a sudden need for solace.

Jon continued to comfort his little sister, muttering like a mantra that it was all Ramsay's fault. The bastard could be glad that he was already dead because otherwise, Jon would have killed him right then – and even more painfully than being eaten alive by your own starved dogs – for hurting his sister so much.

After a few moments Sansa had pushed the tears away, but she stayed in his embrace. "Jon?" she murmured against his chest and her voice still sounded weak.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're home again."

He smiled. _Home._

"Me, too!" exclaimed another voice, and they saw Arya standing in the room. She had seen the wooden knight, still clutched in Jon's hand, and was blinking heavily.

Wordlessly, Jon offered her an open arm, and Arya ran into the hug, putting one arm around her brother and another around her sister.

They stayed like this for some time, together grieving not only Rickon's death, but also Ned's, Catelyn's, and Robb's, grieving for the whole tragedy that had befallen their family since their father had agreed to become the King's Hand.

And in that moment, comforting and embracing his two little sisters, Jon truly felt like a Stark being home again.


	9. Melisandre, Home

Chapter 9 – Melisandre – Home

Asshai was less populated than Melisandre remembered, and darker. Being in Westeros and its big cities the last few years, Asshai had turned better in her head with her growing homesickness. Although she had liked her time in Westeros, advising powerful men, seeing the different landscapes of the vast continent, she had finally become too tired to continue. It was her luck that Jon Snow and Ser Davos had arrived on Dragonstone – her excuse to finally go home.

The people she passed in the streets greeted her respectfully, albeit they had no idea who she was. But she was still a Red Priestess and therefore one of the most important persons of the town.

On her way to the temple, she saw another Red Priestess speaking to a few people, praising the Lord of Light. She knew that the girl was young, by the way, she spoke and gestured. She remembered her first preaching and shook her head in bitterness. This young girl had no idea – as she had had no idea these many years ago – how hard it could be to serve the Lord properly, how much you sometimes had to sacrifice for Him…

Suddenly someone ran into her. It was a little girl with blond long hair and expressive eyes. She instantly remembered her of Shireen… Her biggest mistake and the one she'd like to forget the most…

"I'm very sorry," the girl said, looking scared at her.

She didn't want the girl to be scared, so she smiled and gently stroked her hair. "No, I'm sorry."

It worked, for the girl smiled tentatively, and then ran along.

_Yes, go into the world, little Shireen, and be happy_, she thought, looking after the girl, until she vanished in the gloomy alleys of Asshai.

It was slowly getting darker, twilight approaching quickly, as she made her way west to the Temple of Asshai, over the river Ash and the market place. Although the city was huge, there were only a few people still living here.

Twilight was the best time to reach the temple, for the golden sinking sun stood exactly over the top of the roof, illuminating it as if the Lord of Light shone the light Himself. The building itself was nothing fancy: small, round, with no ornaments, grey walls, simply standing on a hill as if it had always belonged to the landscape of Asshai.

Melisandre took the many steps up to the temple and entered the sacred place. Inside, the walls and décor were as red as her hair, the flames of the gigantic hearth in the middle of the round room colouring everything with a golden shine. The inside was even more breath-taking when you first saw the simple outside.

There was no furniture in the room, only the huge fire. It was said that this was the original flame the Lord of Light had given to the humans many, many eons ago, and that since then, this fire had always flamed. In front of the fire, five women in long red dresses with golden symbols stitched into the delicate material were attending to the fire or helping prayers' find their answers in the flames.

One of them, the oldest and therefore leader of the Guardians of the Eternal Flame, turned around, recognised her and went to her with a smile. "Melisandre," she said as warm as the heat of the flames tickling her skin. "It's good to see you back."

"It's good to be back, Hestia," she greeted and bowed. It felt wonderful to hear her mother-tongue again and also to reply in it.

"We've been waiting for you. R'hllor has foretold your arrival."

"The Lord of Light is never wrong," Melisandre replied with a bitter smile. _Only I am…_

"Please," Hestia motioned a hand towards the Eternal Flame. "Look into the fire. Find out what He wants you to do next."

Melisandre nodded and went gracefully towards the hearth. There she fell on her knees and stared into the flames. She knew it took a while to finally see pictures, so she waited patiently, trying not to blink, dreamingly following the different shades of yellow, orange, and red. Finally, she made out something. A woman, an old woman, with long hair. This woman lay in a bed and peered at the ceiling. When she looked to the side and into Melisandre's eyes, she saw herself – and she knew what the Lord wanted her to do next.

Nodding in acceptance, she stood up and returned to Hestia. "He wants me to resign my duty as a priestess and live the rest of my life in peace," she told her without emotion. She wasn't sure if she should be happy about this outcome, but on the other hand, she was just too tired to care anymore.

"That's wonderful," Hestia smiled. "It means that you have fulfilled your purpose in life and have completed your mission."

"But I've made so many mistakes," she suddenly exclaimed. "I had lost my path completely, following the wrong man…" She didn't feel worthy of a peaceful end. She still had to redeem herself, hadn't she?

Hestia took her hand between hers reassuringly. "But you have found your rightful path again and that is all that matters. R'hllor is proud of you."

Slowly Melisandre nodded. She had no idea if Hestia was right; she was torn between redemption and surrender but a great part of her merely wanted to fall asleep and hopefully never wake up…

"You know what we have to do now?" Hestia asked tentatively and guided her towards a door that led them into a small room.

Once inside with the door closed behind them, Melisandre took off her magical necklace without any comment and gave it to the leader of the Guardians of the Eternal Flame. This necklace would now be given to a new Red Priestess, whom she wished better luck in her life than she had had.

Shrunken and full of wrinkles, with white hair and aching bones, Melisandre undressed herself, folding the red dress neatly on a chair, and dressing herself then in the boring-looking grey woollen dress that Hestia gave her. She had entered the temple as a Red Priestess, but she would leave it as an old woman that no one would recognise…

Hestia accompanied her to the entrance of the Temple and put her hands on Melisandre's shoulders. "The night is dark and full of terrors. But I believe that there still will be a lot of light in your nights. Don't be afraid, be happy, dear Melisandre, and come back whenever you want to pray."

Struck with sudden emotions, she could only whisper her reply. "Thank you."

Hestia smiled and released her. "You can live in the Resting House. We have prepared a room for you, so I hope you will like it."

Melisandre nodded and slowly stepped down the many steps, every move hurting her body, and into the streets of Asshai. She didn't turn around, she didn't want to see the temple in darkness, now that the sun had vanished. This sight had always frightened her as if R'hllor had forgotten them.

It was difficult to walk in her real body again, now that it was so old and fragile. Very slowly she made her way around the temple. When she finally reached the Resting House (the place were old priestesses went when their Lord didn't need them anymore), she was glad to find her room as clean and welcoming as Hestia had promised. Quickly she lit all the candles she could find and made a fire in the chimney.

The night is dark and full of terrors, she knew, but she had enough of it. Instead, she embraced the light her Lord provided for her, trying to forget everything bad she had done in her life, although it was difficult, even with all the flames in the room.

She lay down in the bed and stared into the fire. She had killed all those people, even the Maester of Dragonstone, and all of that for the wrong prince. Many had been sacrificed because she had been wrong. _The night is dark and full of terrors, but the fire burns them all away_, she had told herself over and over again to fill her thoughts with something else than the men's and women's screams…

Suddenly she saw something in the flames and squinted her eyes to look better. She saw a young man with curly black hair – Jon Snow? He stood on a meadow and laughed. It was summer.

Melisandre blinked. Did this mean… that Jon Snow would survive the winter? Of course, it could also mean that he would flee to Essos, but would he grin happily like this if he had? The more she saw of this beautiful scene, the more she smiled herself. Slowly her eyes closed in sudden exhaustion. She had been right this time: Jon Snow was the prince that was promised to lead through the Long Night, this time she was absolutely certain! She had fulfilled her purpose by bringing him back from the Dead.

"Oh, thank you, R'hllor," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. Now she could die in peace. And she was even home to do so, she wouldn't die in that 'strange country' after all as she had told Varys, and neither would she be killed by that fierce girl who had tried to protect Gendry. No, she had brought fire and ice together, had helped the prince that was promised on his way, and now her life was fulfilled.

And with one last breath, life left Melisandre and welcomed her to the afterlife her Lord had provided for her.


	10. Sam, Grief

Chapter 10 – Samwell – Grief

Sam enjoyed the welcome feast of Winterfell. There wasn't much more to eat than usually, for Winter was here and the provisions spare, but still, everyone enjoyed being back together, especially the Stark family. He was happy to see Jon between his siblings again, Arya was constantly talking with him, and he replied with joyous laughter.

Even Queen Daenerys seemed to enjoy herself. Apparently, she tried to become friends with Sansa whom she talked to. But Sam noticed her gaze wandering off to Jon more often than was necessary. It seemed the Mother of Dragons was falling in love with the Master of the Direwolf, and he wasn't sure if he would like that. Not that he wouldn't grant his best friend what he had with Gilly but he knew not enough about the blond woman to estimate her value, yet.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Gilly next to him said and smiled at the happy people around her. Even though the food was already eaten, most stayed around to talk to each other and get to know the new arrivals.

"Yes, it truly is," he replied warmly and took her hand.

"Even Little Sam likes it," she laughed and stroked over the boy's head; he was sitting on her lap but soon he would need his own chair – he was growing so fast. "It's very sad that soon everyone has to fight…"

Sam sighed heavily. Yes, this blissful moment wouldn't last long. Soon the White Walkers would come, and every capable man, woman, and child had to protect their land from total annihilation. He would try to save his family and friends from this fate, of course, but he knew the chances were slim that all of them would survive this fight. He looked at Gilly, Little Sam, Jon… He could protect Gilly and their child by taking them away from the fighting field (he didn't know where to, yet, but he definitely wouldn't bring them along towards the Wall, although Gilly would probably insist to accompany him), but Jon? How on earth was he supposed to save the best fighter of the North, the leader of their army, who had already died once?

Before, however, he could dwell any longer on these thoughts or try to cheer Gilly up, Tyrion Lannister came to them.

"I can't shake the feeling that I know you from somewhere," the small man admitted in good spirits.

Sam smiled good-naturedly. "No, not that I know of. I think we've just missed each other at the Wall a few years ago when you left it and I went to it." He stretched out his hand none the less. "I'm Samwell Tarly."

At first, there was a happy grin on Tyrion's face while he shook Sam's hand. "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. I'm Tyrion Lannister."

But before Sam could reply that, of course, he knew him, the lord's face fell suddenly, and he looked sad and almost guilty.

"I am very sorry for your loss, Samwell Tarly," the little man announced, and Sam frowned.

"I am quite grateful for your condolences, but if I may ask, what loss?" He looked at Gilly but she seemed as surprised as he was. Who had died that was important to him?! His mother? His sister? His maester from the Guild?

Tyrion looked at first confused, then he closed his eyes in horror and resignation. "No one has told him, yet?" he murmured to himself. He opened his eyes again and smiled a sad smile. "Well, I don't believe I'm the right person to tell you but apparently there is no other way." He then turned towards a servant and asked him to fetch the King in the North. "We'll meet in the conference room. Shall we?" he added, looking at Sam and Gilly and gestured them to follow him.

Dumb-struck and curious they obeyed without questioning. The conference room was next to the Great Hall, and Jon joined them soon.

"What is it?", he asked alarmed and closed the door behind him, thereby deafening the joyous sounds of the feast.

"Sam doesn't know, yet, what happened to his family," Tyrion sighed.

Jon looked at him as irritated as Sam. "Um, what _did_ happen?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Tyrion swore. "Does no one bloody tell anyone anything here?!"

"Please, no such words!" Gilly exclaimed. "There is a child in the room."

Tyrion breathed slowly in and out. "I do apologise for my language," he then replied calmly. "It seems it has to be me to deliver the bad news although I was sure you all already knew…"

Sam couldn't bear this suspense any longer. What if it was Talla? Or his mother? "Can you please tell us now what has happened?" he pleaded desperately.

"Better sit down," Tyrion mumbled in defeat.

Gilly took Sam's hand and together they all sat down at the table on which a map of Westeros lay.

"Sam Tarly," Tyrion announced sombre, "I am devastated to tell you that your father and brother died in battle."

Of course, the news was a shock to Sam, so shocking that he didn't know how to react at first. He noticed Gilly's firm hand pressure, and Jon's gasp, but it took him only a few seconds to shift his thoughts from their deaths to the family members that really mattered to him. "How are my mother and my sister?" he wanted to know.

"Fine, I presume," Tyrion answered. "At least I haven't heard anything negative concerning them."

"Good," Sam sighed in relief. "Can you tell me what happened exactly?"

And so Tyrion told them. How the Tarly's had sworn their alliance to House Lannister, how they took Highgarden, how on their way back to King's Landing Daenerys and her dragons stopped them and defeated them, and how afterwards she sentenced them to death for not shifting their loyalties to her.

"I tried to stop her," Tyrion whispered into the shocked silence that had followed his gruesome tale. "But apparently, they had to be the example for the other prisoners…"

"I can't believe Daenerys would do this!" Jon jumped from his chair, fists balled at his side, and stormed through the room.

"This is war, Jon Snow," Tyrion reminded him. "Sometimes enemies have to be sentenced to death."

"But burning them alive! That sounds utterly barbaric to me."

"She is after all the Mother of Dragons, and it is the strength of her dragons that gives her the power to rule."

"But still! Was it wrong to pledge my loyalty to her?" He sounded confused.

"No," Sam said firmly and stood up. He had heard enough and he had made up his mind what to think of the events. "No, Jon, if you truly believe that Daenerys will make a fine Queen over Westeros, then your loyalty towards her is righteous and should not be reduced by the necessary affairs of the war."

Jon came to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I know they were my family but as you may remember, my father never wanted me as a son and had sent me to the Wall instead, giving my rightful heritage to my brother. I am sad that Dickon had to die, too; he was alright. But my father… Well, I'm just sorrowful to think of Mother's and Talla's grief now…"

They continued to talk about what had happened a little while longer but soon Sam wanted to retire, so he, Gilly, and Little Sam left for their room.

"Are you really alright?" Gilly asked him when they were alone, a warm hand comforting on his arm.

He nodded. "I'll be fine. And I'm happy to know that Talla is now the Lady of Horn Hill. She will rule better over the land than my father ever could."

"Why?" Gilly probed. "Hasn't she as a woman many disadvantages?"

"Yes, that's true." Sam smiled. "But she has the biggest advantage anyone could have: she is kind, even to the worst of people."


	11. Arya, Friendship

Chapter 11 – Arya – Friendship

When Jon left the dinner table, Arya thought it was alright for her to leave, as well. It wasn't that she despised the company, she had talked a good deal with Tyrion Lannister and could confirm Sansa's high opinion of him for now, but there was someone she still had to greet.

As silent as the night and as hidden as the dark, she went through the corridors, the yard and then the main gates without anyone noticing her.

The army Jon and Daenerys had brought with them was huge and their tents stretched over the field till the forest. Here where once thousands of people had died in the Battle of the Bastards slept now other thousands waiting for their next battle, hoping it won't be their last. And more were on their way.

Arya wasn't sure where he was, so she strode through the main path of the camp, looking around. It was difficult for her not to hide, for she was used to it, but she was now a Lady of Winterfell again, so there was no need to hide between all these soldiers who were ready to fight for her brother. Well, half-brother, but that had never mattered to her. Jon used to be a better sibling than her real siblings ever could be, and maybe he still was, although she had to admit that her relationship with Sansa had increased rapidly since they were both older now and had gone through so much in the last years, but especially after the execution of Littlefinger.

The camp was loud, full of strange looking people. A few with long beards and braids sat on horses. The Dothraki. Arya had already heard of them when she was in Braavos and though she was fascinated by their brutal strength and fighting ability, she knew better than to cross their paths directly.

Finally, Arya had enough of walking around disorientated and decided to simply ask. So she went to some Westerosi-looking men who were warming themselves around a fire basket and asked for him. Though they might not have recognised her, they were kind enough to answer her anyway.

"And now be off," they told their farewell gruffly but Arya had the information she needed which sufficed for her.

She found his tent quickly and she wasn't surprised that it was bigger than its neighbours. Silently she slipped inside.

He had his back to her, putting a thick blanket on his small cot. He didn't seem to have changed a lot, except for his fur clothes maybe.

Arya couldn't believe it when Jon had told her that he had travelled with them and had fought against the White Walkers! She had thought him to be dead and although she didn't want to admit it, she had been mournful about it. Of course, she had left him to die in the first place, but well, he kind of deserved that. He had been on her list, anyway.

Suddenly the big man turned around, saw her standing in the entrance of his tent, and froze.

For a moment they only stared at each other. Neither of them had ever been good with showing their emotions, especially happy ones, so this reunion was difficult for both of them.

It was the Hound who broke the silence first. "You owe me some money," he grunted at her. "I could have sold you if you hadn't left me dying." But he didn't sound too angry with her, and Arya had known to read through his negative façade a great while ago.

A huge grin spread on her face and the next second, she was hugging his big middle. "I'm glad to see you, too," she smiled into his belly. "Glad, you're not dead."

At first, nothing happened but then a tentative hand patted her head awkwardly.

Arya stepped back to look into his face and had the privilege to probably see the first genuine smile on the Hound's face in years.

She stayed a while longer and they told each other of their adventures since their departure, how the Hound had survived, how Arya had acquired the ability of the Faces. They weren't sure which tale was more compelling: Arya's struggle with the Faceless Man and his assistant, or the Hound's fight against an army of wights.

"So, I'm still on your stupid list?" he wanted to know after a while.

Arya shook her head at once. "No, I guess you suffered enough."

"That's what Beric also told me," the Hound muttered into his beard.

"Beric?!" Arya shouted surprised. "The one from the Brotherhood without Banners?"

"Yes, him," he replied and told her, how they had met again and had fought together.

But Arya wasn't listening, she was stuck in her own thoughts. This was Beric Dondarrion. The man who had sold Gendry to the Red Woman!

And he was on her list for that!

"Where is he now?" Arya wanted to know, not noticing that she had interrupted the Hound.

"Eastwatch," he grumbled.

She struggled to keep her hands from twitching towards Needle – her trusty sword always hung at her side –, riding to Eastwatch and killing the man at once. But she knew that would bring only trouble. No, she had to be cleverer. Wait for him to come to Winterfell, or maybe on the battlefield or better on the day before the battle against the White Walkers. And then she would kill him – and she already knew how…


	12. Euron, Cowards

Chapter 12 – Euron – Cowards

What a wonderful day, Euron thought as he left the Iron Bank in Braavos in triumph. The Lannister money – or better the idea of the Lannister money – together with his personal threats had convinced the stoic bankers in a heartbeat, and now another 10,000 soldiers from the Golden Company would soon be shipped to King's Landing in order to protect the Queen and win the War.

Euron liked Braavos, he had spent many wonderful years in the city a decade ago and therefore knew the best brothels, playhouses, and taverns. The people in Essos were freer than those in Westeros and he loved the lawlessness. He could do whatever he wanted, and no one would come after him. It felt like home.

But there was one person the whole town feared and whenever this person entered a room or went over the market place, all thieves left their stolen goods and all rapists ran away and all people stared in awe, trying to be the possibly best citizens. It was clear to Euron that this person – an old black man – had a tremendous amount of power over the whole city. The question was why?

So Euron had asked different persons throughout the city: a whore, a beggar, a vendor, a mother with a small child, a rich shop owner. They all had told him the same: in the House of Black and White, there were people who had the ability to kill anyone at any time without anyone even noticing it. There were wild guesses how these people did it – from being invisible over a God's power till blood magic – but finally, someone could give him an interesting answer. A wise old man, now blind, who sat on a bench near the harbour, listening to the world around him without ever interacting, told him of a well filled with poisonous water.

"How do you know?" Euron had asked.

The man had laughed. "I used to be one of them."

Poisonous water. A poison that killed instantly but without leaving any traces. This sounded like a perfect opportunity, so Euron made his way to the famous House of Black and White.

It could be easily spotted, the second largest building after the Iron Bank and directly at the harbour. As the name said one half of it was painted in black, the other in white.

Euron, a few men behind him, entered the huge building without knocking and without fear. Whatever would be inside these walls could not bring him down. He had his trusted sword Red Rain with him and it was made of Valyrian steel, as well as his famous axe.

The first room inside was an enormous, dark atrium, only lit with a few fire bowls. Some people stood around, apparently praying towards the different god statues. Euron recognised the Lord of Light, the Seven, and of course the Drowned God. He had never been a very religious person, so the statues meant nothing to him, not even his own god.

In the middle of the room was indeed a well of at least three metres diameter and incorporated into the ground. In front of it stood a man with long brown hair (one strip of hair was white), wearing a beige cowl. He looked like he was in charge, so Euron stepped towards him as if he owned the place himself. He wanted to show this strange man as soon as possible who really had the power.

"You work here?" he asked without a greeting, grinning at the man arrogantly.

"A man has dedicated his life to the Many-faced God," he replied stoically. "He does what the Many-faced God commands."

"So you work here?" Euron pressed.

The man cracked an amused smile. "Yes, a man works here."

"Very good," Euron rubbed his hands together. "I'd like to take some of that poisonous water with me." He indicated towards the well. "Do you have a barrel I can use?"

The man arched an eyebrow. "The water is not yours to take," he spoke calmly.

Euron's smile faltered and he made an angry step towards the man. "You misunderstand me. That was not a request. I'm taking the water with me." He heard his men behind him unsheathe their swords and liked the dramatic effect of this threat.

The man didn't look afraid at all and it pissed Euron off a lot. "A man does not fear Death," he continued to explain in his calm voice. " But," he added when Euron gripped his own sword, "a man has still some things to fulfil before the Many-faced God wants his end." He stepped aside, so the way to the well was free.

Euron didn't wait long, but pointed at a bucked nearby, saying to his men: "Fill it."

The men didn't seem to like this idea at all. They looked at each other with scared faces, waiting for someone else to do the deed.

"Cowards," Euron spat, grabbed the bucket and filled it with the water from the well – he would punish them later for this un-Ironborn behaviour! He paid attention that he didn't get the fluid on his hands and when a drop splashed on his finger accidentally, he wiped it away at his trousers at once.

After the bucket was filled, Euron stood again and smirked at the strange man. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said and mocked a bow.

The man inclined his head and prophesised: "This water will be your downfall."

Euron laughed. "I'm the King of the Ironborn – water runs through my veins!" He turned to his men and nodded to the bucket. "Carry it," he ordered but again the men were too afraid to move. "What's wrong with you?" Euron demanded. "Just be careful and nothing will happen."

Still, the men didn't move, looking at each other, the bucket, and Euron.

"Or do I need to kill you myself for disobeying an order?!" Euron roared angrily.

The men shook their heads and at last one of them brought himself to do it and took the damn thing in one hand, staring at it as if the water would jump at him at any moment.

Euron rolled his eyes and left the House of Black and White without looking back and without closing the door behind him.

All the way back to the fleet, Euron whistled in delight, already thinking whom he could kill and then how to kill his enemies best. Maybe he could test it on Yara? No harm there. But then again, he thought, that she was more valuable to him alive, more fun.

When they reached the fleet, they ascended the main ship, the biggest and most graceful of them all, Euron's personal ship – the Silence. His crew members looked at the bucket he brought with him; it looked like ordinary water to them, he could see it in their confused but curious faces.

"What's that?" one brave man finally dared to ask.

Euron used this opportunity for a little speech. "This, my friends, is our future. It is our way to glory and land. This water is poisonous. Whoever drinks from it, will die. It smells like nothing, tastes like nothing, and leaves no traces behind. I could murder you all at tonight's dinner and no one would know it was me." He laughed at his own joke but he laughed alone. He looked around.

The Ironborn, who were normally as cruel in their jokes as him, only stared at the water in fright.

"What's the matter with you?" Euron demanded to know. He did not understand when his steel men had become such cowards. "This is the key to our future successes! We can kill whomever we want, whenever we want. And no one'll know it was us!"

The crew members exchanged glances, all timid. At last, someone announced: "We are Ironborn. Water is our home. We cannot allow evil water on our ship."

Euron sighed. Such superstitious people… "You have nothing to fear from me," he assured them in his best imitation of a friend. "I only meant it as a joke. Why would I kill my loyal men?"

But the men still looked wary. "I say we throw the bucket into the sea," someone – Hery, Euron recognised, his second in command – yelled. "And be rid with this diabolic water once and for all! The Drowned God is our God and not this foreign imposter where this water comes from!"

The men started to nod in agreement.

"We are Ironborn!" Hery went on. "If we kill someone, we throw our swords into their guts until they are dead."

"Yes!" the men shouted.

"And not with poison – a woman's weapon, by the way!"

Now all crew members were on Hery's side, cursing the wicked water, so Euron knew he had to act quickly. With a few long strides, he stood in front of his second in command and grabbed his throat. The man was a bit taller than him but his neck was thin and so it was easy to choke him with one hand.

The crew members fell silent at once.

"I am the captain of this ship," Euron reminded them in a dangerous voice, "the captain of this entire fleet. I am the King of the Ironborn, and no one questions me or my actions. Is that understood?"

Hery nodded frantically, panic in his eyes.

"Give me the water," Euron demanded and pointed to the bucket.

The man, who had carried it, brought it to him swiftly, bowing in submissiveness.

Euron took it without fear, while still holding Hery in his other hand. "I want everyone to watch closely to what happens to people who question me," he roared loudly. Slowly he raised the bucket over Hery's head.

The former brave man now froze in fear and whimpered his apologies, but Euron didn't care. He poured a few drops of the water into the man's mouth and watched him swallow with glee. Finally, he let go of him, put the bucket back on the floor, and watched his second in command die, without pain and without a fight. He himself was rather disappointed with this poison – it killed too fast and not nearly gruesome enough. Nothing like the Long Farewell, for instance.

The crew gasped quietly but Euron knew they were frightened enough not to ever question him again.

When Hery's body stopped moving and his open eyes watched the sky deadly, Euron left the deck without another word and went inside his cabin.

There he found his lovely niece tied to a chair. Smiling he went to her and grinned even more when she started to struggle. "Well, my dear, I've finally got time for you again." He gently laid his hand on her cheek and found it wet.

He sighed in contentment. What a wonderful day, Euron thought as Yara's muffled screams went through the whole ship.


	13. Jon, Truth

Chapter 13 – Jon – Truth

Jon was one of the first to appear at breakfast. Of course, he would have loved a late start into the day, a few more hours of sleep after weeks of traveling by ship and horse, not to mention his injuries and illness he had gotten north of the Wall prior. But there was too much to do, and so when he woke up and saw light grey clouds of another day, he simply hadn't been able to go back to sleep and pretend it wasn't his responsibility to lead humanity into the next spring. Of course, he wasn't the sole person in this but it felt as if the main burden was on his shoulders, and his alone.

Quickly he ate his bread and eggs, while pondering about how to best attack the White Walkers, train the common folk of the North as well as the people in and around the castle, provide for everyone (especially the thousands of Unsullied and Dothraki outside), and still prepare for a probably long winter after the Dead were defeated. _If they are_, he added bitterly. He wasn't so confident as he let anyone know – it would be dramatically difficult to live until spring…

"Good morning, Jon," Sam greeted him in good spirits and sat down at the table.

Jon had been so stuck in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the others arrivals. Only now did he see that some other guests, mostly his bannermen, had taken a seat in the Great Hall. "Morning, Sam," he replied, smiling. It was good to have his best friend with him once again; he needed someone trustworthy to confide in.

They started to talk about the Citadel, the tons of books there, and what Sam had learned.

"Why did you leave?" Jon finally asked, confused. "Not that I'm not happy you're here. We need your wisdom, and I need your advice," he added with a smirk. "But Oldtown sounds like the perfect place for you. So, why did you leave?"

Sam sighed heavily. "Well, you know, the Maesters of the Citadel are all a bit… um… arrogant, I guess. They didn't believe me when I told them what dangers linger beyond the Wall. They said that in the last thousand years there were similar threats that would only sow panic but nothing really to worry about. So, they didn't want to help. But I did. So, Gilly, Little Sam, and I left in the middle of the night and came straight here."

"But now you can never go back," Jon said in horror. "You deserted."

"I know," Sam agreed with a sad smile. "But I thought it would be better to live in a world where I deserted than in a world where everyone I care for is dead…"

They were silent for several minutes, both in their own depressing thoughts about the lurking darkness of the future.

„But," Sam spoke after a while, trying to lift the mood, "you kind of deserted, too, Lord Commander, and look where you are now. Finally, home again, having breakfast with your best friend. So, I guess deserting is not always the worst decision." He grinned cheekily, and said best friend could only shake his head in amusement – although he knew he would have never deserted if his fellow Brothers hadn't tried to murder him…

It was only when they had finished their meal that Sam spoke again. "Um, Jon," he tentatively started. "There is something your brother Bran has to tell you. He asked me to bring you to his chamber after breakfast."

It was obvious for Jon from his best friend's anguished face and tone that something dreadful must have happened. He stood up at once and strode towards the Family Wing of the big castle. It had always been his philosophy, that terrible news – however dreadful they might be – would not become better by avoiding to hear them.

He suddenly heard Sam's panted breaths and hurried steps behind him, and slowed down for him to catch up.

"Um, Jon," he said when he had reached him. "Since I don't believe you will be particularly happy about this news, I'd like to accompany you. Bran's fine with it," he added hurriedly.

Despite everything, Jon couldn't hide a grin. "Afraid I'll do something stupid again?" he asked playfully, remembering the night where his Brothers of the Night's Watch had ridden after him to bring him back, when he had wanted to desert in order to help Robb win the war. He often wondered how his life would be if no one had stopped him: would he have found Robb in time? Fight against the Lannisters? Rescue his stepmother and brother at the Red Wedding? Kill Theon for destroying Winterfell? He sometimes dreamed of a better world where Robb was still alive, but then he reminded himself, that if his friends hadn't ridden after him, he would probably be dead… And he would have never saved the Wildings, never become Lord Commander, never be reunited with Arya, Sansa, and Bran, and most of all, he would have never met Daenerys Targaryen.

"Yes, something like this," Sam admitted, and now Jon knew certainly that something terrible must have happened.

He stopped abruptly and turned to his best friend, grabbing his shoulders. "Who's dead?" he wanted to know and inwardly went through a list of people he cared for. But everyone – Sansa, Arya, Bran, Sam, Ghost, Dany – was in Winterfell and well. But he surely was forgetting someone and this person must be dead now. "Sam, tell me who is dead!"

"No one's died!" Sam hastily replied. "It's nothing like that. No one's dead, no one's hurt, no new war. Nothing per se terrible. Only… maybe for you personally, and our alliances…"

Jon frowned in confusion.

"Why don't we just go to Bran?" Sam offered, and they continued their hasty walk to the Family Wing.

Jon was so agitated that he entered his brother's room without knocking.

Bran sat in his wheelchair, looking out of the window, watching new snowflakes falling heavily from the sky. It was one of the saddest pictures Jon had ever seen, and his moment of timid rage was calmed at once.

"Bran," he greeted cautiously.

His little brother turned around and looked at him with indifferent eyes. "It's righteous that you came. I have something to tell you." He gestured towards his bed and the two men sat down.

Jon didn't avert his eyes from the broken – both in body and spirit, it seemed – form of his brother who now appeared to be in darkness in contrast to the white light of the window behind him.

"As you probably have already noticed I have changed since the last time you saw me," Bran began and he sounded like a wise old man, instead of a 16-year-old boy.

Jon curtly nodded, wasting no time with a verbal reply.

"That is because I have become the Three-Eyed Raven."

Jon frowned irritated. "What's the Three-Eyed Raven?" His eyes travelled from his estranged brother to his knowledgeable friend, but Sam merely smiled reassuringly at him, his eyes still wary that something might happen.

"It would be too long and too complicated," Bran continued in his calm voice, "to explain it in detail and how it has happened, but essentially I am now the Master of Time." He made a pause to let the truth sink in, before he explained further: "That means that I am able to see what has happened in the past, what is happening right now in the present, and what will happen in the future; anywhere, in all of Westeros, and some parts of Essos. Although my glimpses into the future are rather short and often don't bear enough information to tell with certainty what will happen."

Jon's mind raced. The Master of Time?! Was that even possible? Could his little brother truly see anything anywhere? Bran's pause wasn't long enough to process this new information completely.

"Before I tell you what I am probably meant to tell you, I need you to believe me first." He whirled his wheelchair closer to the bed and looked at his half-brother seriously. "I have seen your fight in Hardhome against the White Walkers and the Army of the Dead. I have seen how Maester Aemon dropped the last voting stone and thus made you the new Lord Commander. I have seen how they stabbed you for bringing the Wildlings south and you died, and I have seen how the Red Priestess brought you back afterwards."

Jon was impressed by this list, his mouth open in awe, but a small voice in his mind told him that these were all accounts that were common knowledge nowadays and didn't prove anything.

As if Bran had heard his inner voice, he continued his list for situations that were definitely not common knowledge and that even Sam didn't know in their entirety. "I have seen you and Ygritte climbing the Wall, how she almost fell but was rescued by you. How you gazed together into the horizon when you finally stood on the Wall. And I have seen how she died in your arms and how you burnt her body in the Real North." He paused and at last showed a real emotion; he looked sad. "She was very beautiful and special," he whispered in compassion.

Jon nodded his thanks and agreement, too buffed by these new events to speak.

Suddenly his mind shouted that he hopefully hadn't seen him and Ygritte in that cave. He would never be able to look into his little brother's eyes again out of embarrassment.

"Do you believe me?" Bran then wanted to know and his sad eyes were gone, replaced by a certain urgency. "Do you believe that I am the Three-Eyed Raven with the ability to look into the past?"

Jon thought about this for a moment, looked at Sam who was as serious as his brother, and finally nodded. They wouldn't play a trick on him, of that he was sure.

"Truly?" Bran pressed.

"Yes, I do," Jon confirmed.

Bran gave him a moment to collect his thoughts before he started with the more important part of their conversation. "I know who your mother is."

Jon blinked a few times, completely at loss. This had been the last he had expected. "M-my mother?"

"Yes. She was my aunt. Lyanna Stark."

That was even less what he would have ever expected. And he would have thought this to be a joke if it weren't for the absolute serious faces of Bran and Sam and the knowledge that they would never joke about something this important.

"But my father… Ned?" This couldn't be. If Lyanna was his mother, did his father… with his sister…?! Were the Starks not better than the Lannisters?!

Bran shook his head. "Ned Stark is not your father."

Now Jon was absolutely shocked. All his life he had been told that the Lord of Winterfell was his father. Why would he lie? He could have just told him that he was his uncle. He, Jon, would have been fine with that. To be the son of the beautifully, popular Lyanna – there was no shame in that. "Wh-Who then?" He dreaded the answer more than anything else, not even the White Walkers could stand in comparison.

Bran looked at him and then announced without hesitation: "Rhaegar Targaryen."

For a moment Jon's mind was blank in shock, then his brain started to list everything he knew about Rhaegar Targaryen: he had been married to Elia Martell but had abducted and raped his aunt – no mother! – Lyanna Stark. He had been killed in the rebellion of Robert Baratheon and Lyanna had died as well.

Suddenly an inner voice told him that at least he knew his mother wasn't a whore or worse.

"I need some air," he panted and stormed out of the room. He didn't know where to go so he simply ran into Rickon's old room – since it wasn't used and nearby – and quickly opened the window widely. Ice-cold air streamed into the room and cooled down Jon's body. He hadn't even noticed before that he was sweating.

He heard Sam enter the room behind him but he didn't say anything. Now he understood why his friend feared he would do something 'stupid' – although he didn't know what that might be.

"So, I'm _his_ bastard?" Jon finally spoke.

"No, not a bastard," Sam quickly said, and his face showed a joyous smile. "I thought so, too, at first. Jon Sand, you know, because you were born in Dorne. But I found a document in the Citadel that proofs that Rhaegar and Lyanna married before you were born, and Bran found out that they were truly in love. Lyanna wasn't raped. She was happy." His face fell suddenly. "She just died… of childbirth. And Ned found you both there."

Shock slowly drifted into rage at the mentioning of his 'father's' name. Jon whirled around and shouted: "He lied to me! My whole life is a lie and he knew it and he lied to me anyway, knowing how much I always wanted to know who my mother was!"

Sam looked at him apologetically. "She made him promise to keep you safe. So I guess, Ned thought it the best if the world thought you were his bastard, instead of one of the Targaryens who were murdered because of their heritage. I'm quite sure that _you_ have now the righteous claim for the Iron Throne – and not Daenerys."

Dany!

He had started to like her, love her – he had even slept with her! And she was his…? He quickly drew a family tree in his mind and realised that she was his aunt! "She's my aunt!" he panted in horror. "She's my fucking aunt!"

"Well, that's not bad, is it?" Sam asked in his innocent, optimistic way.

"I've slept with her," Jon admitted ashamed. He suddenly became sick and vomited out of the window. He had slept with his aunt!

Sam was by his side in an instance and first put a hand on his shoulder for comfort and afterwards brought him a glass of water.

"You know," Sam tried to cheer him up, "incest isn't frowned upon at the Targaryens. Brothers and sisters have been wed for many centuries, and Daenerys isn't your sister." He made it sound as if that was better…

_ No, not my sister, _Jon thought bitterly._ Just my aunt_… "'Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin'," he quoted the old saying. "There is a reason the Mad King was mad." He suddenly realised that the Mad King had been his grandfather! This was getting more complicated by the minute. He wished Bran would have never told him. What advantages would it bring him now?

"But Daenerys isn't pregnant, is she now?" Sam tried to reason further.

Jon shook his head and said in defeat: "No, but I love her…"

Apparently, Sam didn't know how to reply, so he stayed quiet and stared together with his best friend out of the window.

Jon then remembered his conversation with Theon on Dragonstone. He had told him that he was both – a Greyjoy and a Stark. Jon had said it easily, not understanding what this identity hybridity could truly mean. How can you truly belong to two houses? What do you do when they start fighting each other? Or have hated each other for centuries? He had been raised in the belief that the Targaryens were a brutish, mad and unfair people. They were evil, the enemy, and it was proper they were almost extinct. But now he was suddenly one of them. The next time he saw Theon he had to ask him how he was living with this identity crisis.

He further remembered an old story his father – no uncle! – had told him about how his grandfather – that stayed the same… – had been killed by the Mad King, and suddenly realised that his one grandfather had killed his other…

Jon then decided that he didn't want to think further into this and tried to focus on more important things. "Who knows about it?" he asked and tried to find his firm voice back.

"Just you, Bran, and I," Sam assured him.

"Good," Jon nodded. "I want no one else to know. No one!" He looked seriously into his friend's eyes and Sam nodded. "I don't want to lose the bannermen when they realise, I'm not Ned's son."

"But your Lyanna's," Sam argued. "Surely, that also means something to them. And you're not a bastard."

"Yes, but also a Targaryen," Jon replied bitterly. "I believe they prefer a Snow-bastard. And as for Lyanna: the people believe she had been kidnapped and raped for years, my father," he cursed inwardly – this would take a while getting used to. "Ned Stark," he began anew, "had lied to them for two decades. They have risked their lives for Lyanna, wanted to rescue her, only because she and Rhaegar weren't courageous enough to openly admit their love." He paused thinking about the loyal but stubborn Northerners. "Because of them, the seven kingdoms started a huge war, tens of thousands died. I don't presume the Northern people will be glad about this truth. Better let them believe the old lies, so they continue to fight with us." He looked at Sam, waiting for his support, and he nodded in agreement.

"I go tell Bran," he said. "You're okay?"

Jon nodded, and Sam left.

The King in the North – who wouldn't be the King in the North if his people knew the truth – kept staring out of this window for hours, even when San returned after a while. He had much to think about although he didn't want to. He tried to push the unwanted thoughts away but they crept back without his permission.

But what he dreaded most was leaving this room and seeing Dany again. How could he look into his aunt's eyes and at the same time feel this intense love for her? This shouldn't be, he knew it was wrong but he had no idea how to stop it! And for the first time in his life, he could understand the strange and disgusting relationship between Jaime and Cersei Lannister – and he felt like vomiting again.

Well, he thought. Maybe he would die in the fight against the Dead and all of his problems would vanish together with his soul and body. Who would have imagined that the White Walkers could also bring some thoughts of comfort?


	14. Lyanna, Leader

Chapter 14 – Lyanna – Leader

Lyanna Mormont stood hidden behind a wooden pillar in the yard of Winterfell and waited secretly for someone, her two personal guards behind her. She had just found out this morning who the old man next to the queen was and she was eager to confront him. Just the idea of the potential threat his mere existence posed to the whole of Bear Island, but her personally, made her clench her fists in anger. She had taken the role as the Mormont leader very seriously and she wasn't ready to give it all up just now. She had put too much effort into it.

She waited for half an hour until the old knight entered the yard, apparently walking from the Great Hall towards his chamber after breakfast, and luckily he was alone.

Lyanna strode quickly forwards to him and called fiercely: "Jorah Mormont!"

The man turned around perplexed, saw her, waited for her to reach him and bowed. "My lady," he greeted her politely.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked him directly, trying to stare him down although he was much taller than her.

"You are Lyanna Mormont, Leader of Bear Island, and my cousin," he said at once and smiled at her slightly. "I wanted to speak with you for some time but had not the chance till now."

"And why is that?" she wished to know grimly, fearing that her thoughts had been correct. "Do you wish to take the leadership from me?"

"Oh no," Jorah replied at once and she had to admit that he looked sincere. "First of all, I couldn't take it, even if I wanted to-"

"The queen could rehabilitate you," Lyanna interrupted him at once, squinting her eyes.

"Yes, she could," Jorah agreed but continued quickly: "But even if she did, I would never claim any leadership to House Mormont. I was exiled for my terrible crimes and have thus brought dishonour to my House. I don't deserve to be a leader of anything. You on the other hand, you have served House Mormont well these past years. I have heard nothing but good stories from your wise and strong but still warm-hearted decisions. You have always our people in mind first; a quality of a true leader."

Lyanna's face softened at these words. Of course, she liked what he told her, but she also knew how easy one could be convinced with flatteries and she didn't wish to be a little, naive girl that fell for it. But before she could object, Jorah Mormont sank to one knee and spoke solemnly:

"Lyanna Mormont, I, Jorah Mormont, son of Jeor Mormont, pledge my loyalty to you. You are the rightful leader of House Mormont and the best I could think of. I will never take the leadership from you, but if I may, I would like to counsel you whenever you might need my advice." He looked up at her with honest eyes.

This was sufficient for Lyanna. She knew that the fealty he swore to his queen would always be more important than this vow, but she understood the meaning of it and appreciated the gesture. She hoped these weren't just inane words, spoken by a man keen to breaking oaths, but she had always been a splendid judge of character, so she trusted her instincts in this matter as well. "Rise, Jorah Mormont," she told him gracefully.

When the old man stood before her, she continued: "I accept your oath and I promise you on the other hand that you will always have a home in Bear Island and I will seek your counsel should I ever need it."

"Thank you, my lady," Jorah replied with a thick voice. "I must admit I thought I would never be welcomed on Bear Island again."

She simply nodded at this, before she continued, "There is another question I have to ask you: where is _Longclaw_. It belonged to your father, therefore it should now belong to you. But this sword," she gestured to the one at his belt, "is not the Mormont family sword."

He shook his head. "You're right, this sword isn't _Longclaw_. But you're wrong in assuming, I had inherited anything from my father. I've failed him and so he gave it to another, more worthy person than me."

"To whom?" she asked eagerly. She wanted this sword, that had been passed from Mormont to Mormont in centuries, back on Bear Island where it rightfully belonged!

"To Jon Snow," Jorah answered and she gasped in surprise. She had actually seen _Longclaw_ all this time without even realising it!

"Have you asked it back from him?" she inquired further.

"No, quite the contrary. He offered it to me, because it is – _was_ – our family sword. But I told him that if my father wanted him to have it, he should keep it. I'm certainly not worthy of the sword after bringing such shame and dishonour to our House."

Lyanna nodded a few times at this. These were unfortunate circumstances but just ones, so she replied as a true leader should: "With Jon Snow, it has found a worthy sword bearer again."


	15. Podrick, Council

Chapter 15 – Podrick – Council

There were many people in the small chamber next to the Great Hall that would function as the Council meeting room for the time being. A few times Podrick wondered, why he was part of this first, this most important council, but then he remembered that since Lady Sansa had asked Lady Brienne to attend the meeting, Podrick naturally had to follow as well.

There were Lord Tyrion who talked in hushed tones with Lord Varys, probably concocting an intelligent plan again. Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, and Lord Jon laughed about an anecdote from their childhood that they told Samwell and Ser Davos. Missandei told Daenerys how much she was looking forward to seeing someone named Grey Worm again. Ser Jorah watched his Queen from afar, and Brandon watched nothing in particular, as if he had fallen asleep with open eyes.

Brienne and Podrick stood near the Starks protecting them, although they didn't know yet from what or whom. There wasn't enough room around the round table and not enough space for additional chairs, so he and Brienne remained standing, when Jon called for attention and the rest sat down and watched him expectantly.

"Welcome, to our first Council meeting in Winterfell," Jon opened half-heartedly. "I hope you have slept well in our castle and that it wasn't too cold." There was something strange about the way he spoke, as if he tried to hide something that was troubling him.

The others merely nodded or smiled.

Podrick had slept wonderfully, but he already knew where to find the warmest spots in Winterfell. But the King in the North did not look well, he overserved further. He was pale and looked a bit sick, especially when his gaze went over the present people.

"You all know why we are here," Jon continued in a more severe tone. "So, let's start right now: how do we defeat the White Walkers?"

There was a dense silence, everyone in their own thoughts. Podrick looked at the map of the North that was displayed on the table. There was Winterfell and there was the Wall – it looked tiny if he thought that hundred thousands of dead zombies where marching their way…

"I'll make a list," Sam then offered, putting a piece of parchment and an ink bottle on the table, a quill in his hand.

"Good idea," Ser Davos said, and Sam started to write.

"So," Tyrion spoke, "maybe we could start by thinking of the methods we have to destroy wights and White Walkers."

"Dragon fire," Daenerys prompted at once.

Jon looked at her quickly, before he simply nodded. Sam wrote it down.

"Dragonglass," Sansa added.

"Wildfire," Tyrion suggested. "If we can make some, of course."

"Yes, very well," Jon praised although still not as enthusiastic as Podrick would have expected. "So, anything else?"

"Dragonsteel, of course," Samwell mumbled while still writing on his parchment.

"What's dragonsteel?" Arya inquired curiously.

Sam looked up. "Oh, sorry. That's just another name for Valyrian steel."

"But there isn't much left in the world," Ser Jorah remarked and frowned.

"That's true," Ser Davos replied. "But I'd say we should look for every last Valyrian steel we can find and give it to our best fighters. Though both dragonglass and Valyrian steel destroy wights and White Walkers, I believe it's still easier to fight with a real weapon."

The rest thought about this and finally nodded.

"Alright," Sam spoke up, "which Valyrian blades do we know of?" He had his quill ready in hand to write in down.

"_Longclaw_ is one," Jon told them, and Sam wrote it down.

"My dear friend Illyrio used to have a Valyrian sword called _Blackfyre_," Varys stated. "But I believe it would take us too much time to get it from Pentos. If he still has it, of course."

"There once was one in the possession of the Lannisters," Tyrion offered. "It was called _Brightroar _if I'm not mistaken. But it had been lost for centuries in Valyria…" He sighed disappointed.

"What happened to Father's sword?" Arya suddenly exclaimed, looking quizzically at her sister, who had been in King's Landing the day he died. "_Ice_ was Valyrian steel."

Sansa was taken aback and shook her head in sudden realisation. "I don't know."

There Brienne cleared her throat and announced: "_Ice_ does not exist anymore. Tywin Lannister had ordered to reforge it and thus made two new swords. One of them is the sword I am wearing know, called _Oathkeeper_."

Podrick saw the Stark children watch the sword at her side awestruck. Who would have thought that a part of their father's old sword had been in Winterfell all that time?

"And the other one?" Arya whispered, still in shock.

"It's called _Widow's Wale_," Sansa replied before Brienne could, her voice and face ghostly, apparently, finally remembering. "It was Lord Tywin's wedding gift for Joffrey." She looked at her first husband and then at Podrick, and all three of them remembered the humiliation of that day, how the King had destroyed the book Tyrion had presented him before, and how he had said it would feel as if he would cut Ned Stark's head all over again. It was such a relief that this gruesome King was dead.

Lord Tyrion sighed heavily. "I am truly sorry for my disturbed family," he apologised, looking at the Stark children.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Podrick could almost smell the stink of King's Landing in his nose, with everyone picturing and remembering this horrible place.

"Um," Sam then spoke up once more, and the round returned to the issue at hand. "I just remembered that the sword I have is Valyrian steel, too. It's called _Heartsbane_ and had been in my family for centuries."

"Oh, that's right!" Arya suddenly exclaimed and unsheathed the dagger around her middle. "This one used to be Littlefinger's and it's also Valyrian steel!"

"Oh, yes, Littlefinger," then Sansa remembered. "I found a sword in his chamber which I believe could be _Lady Forlorn_, a sword from the Vale. I was thinking about giving it to the Hound, since I have no use for a sword and you all already have one."

Jon nodded his consent. "Anything else?"

Podrick looked into the faces of the Council members, but no one seemed to remember anything else.

"I know of three more Valyrian Swords," Bran then announced and spoke for the first time. "There are two in the possession of the Ironborn, one called _Nightfall_, and the other _Red Rain_. The last one is called _Dark Sister_ and is currently in the hand of an old friend of mine. I could write her, if you want me to."

"_Dark Sister_?!" Arya shouted in excitement. "The one from Visenya?!"

Bran nodded.

"How do you know all this?" Daenerys asked the youngest Stark child in a mixture of wonder and scepticism.

He turned his cold eyes on her and simply replied: "Research."

The Queen still looked unconvinced, but Jon quickly continued: "Yes, Bran, please write to your friend. We need every Valyrian steel we can have."

"We should also ask the other Houses in the North," Ser Jorah suggested. "Even if we only find small daggers, it would be better than nothing."

"And we can reforge them," Brienne added. "In King's Landing there is a man called Tobho Mott. He was the one who reforged _Ice_."

"But we can't get him," Daenerys countered. "Even if it didn't take so much time, we'd have to get into Cersei's territory. And this smith probably won't help us anyway, if he used to work for Tywin Lannister."

"That's true," Ser Davos agreed. "We can't have the master. But we already have his apprentice."

"Who?" Varys asked astounded, seemingly frustrated at not knowing everything.

Ser Davos smiled smugly. "Gendry!"

"Gendry?!" Arya squeaked. "Gendry is here? Why hasn't anyone told me? Where is he now?!"

But before anyone could answer her, the Queen demanded to know who Gendry was, so Ser Davos explained.

"I can't believe he is actually here," Arya smiled dreamingly, and Podrick wondered what had happened between them to make the little assassin smile like this.

"Well, if he truly can reforge Valyrian steel," Tyrion insisted, "then I'd like to have an axe made for me. I'm no use fighting with a sword."

"Of course," Jon agreed. "And everyone else who can't have Valyrian steel should get a weapon made out of dragonglass, since that helps also against the wights, which are the majority."

No one seemed to disagree with this idea, so they continued.

"So, next point: how do we get our army to Eastwatch and beyond the Wall without losing anyone to the winter or the Others?"


	16. Arya, Honour

Chapter 16 – Arya – Honour

Slowly Arya walked over the courtyard, towards the smithery. She couldn't believe that Gendry was supposed to be alive – and here, in the middle of Winterfell, two days already – and no one had cared to tell her! But then again no one knew how much he meant to her. She walked slowly, because she was afraid that when she went inside the smithery and asked the smiths about him that he was not there, that it was all a lie or a dream. But even with her slow walk she had to reach the smithery eventually and when she heard loud hammering and hissing, she took a deep breath and went inside.

And there he was. Although he stood with his back to her and over a new sword he tried to form correctly, she recognised him at once. "Gendry," she whispered and felt like crying. Here was the last puzzle piece that would make her world complete – after Cersei was dead, of course.

Gendry quickly turned around and stared at her. "Arya," he smiled.

She was with him in a second and flung her arms around him. She didn't care that he smelt of sweat and was wet therefore, just that he was here, that he was alive and apparently well. Her Gendry was back. It thus took her a while to realise that he wasn't hugging her back but instead tensed. She released him and stepped back so that she could look into his face. "What is it?" she wanted to know.

"I don't think we should be seen like this," he said, looking at the floor. "My lady."

Arya stared at him for a moment shocked, then her irritation turned into anger. "Not that again!" she shouted. "Gendry, please don't call me 'my lady'!"

"But you are my lady," he replied stubbornly. "I'm a bastard and you're the Lady of Winterfell."

"No, that's Sansa."

"Well, but you're her sister, so you're still a lady."

Arya crossed her arms and shook her head. "Gendry, I'm definitely not a lady. I'm a cold-hearted assassin. I've killed all the Freys," she announced but it was clear from his face that he didn't believe her. "And look at my clothes. I'm wearing trousers for heaven's sake, and I'm even allowed to carry a sword and fight with it. You should see me and Brienne spare fighting – then you will forget that I'm a lady."

"As far as I know Brienne is called a 'lady' as well," Gendry countered.

Arya groaned. "Yes, and she hates it as much as I do!"

"But still, you're a lady and I'm a bastard. There's no room in the world for us together, not even as friends."

She tried to reason with him on another level. "Your last name is Water, isn't it? Well, if I were a bastard, my last name would be Snow. What happens to snow if it melts? It becomes water. We belong together, don't you see it?"

He shook his head. "But you're not a bastard."

She didn't give up although she became more and more frustrated with his code of honour. If she didn't care for her honour, why should he?! "Regarding snow. Look at my brother. He's a bastard but he's also the King in the North now."

"But he'll still not be able to marry into one of the great houses."

"I'm not so sure about that," she mumbled, remembering the way he and Daenerys had stared at each at dinner last night. Then thinking of the queen, she had another idea. "The queen could legitimise you. Give you the name Baratheon and all the lands they had. You are the last of your family, without you the House will die out."

"Cersei's still there."

"Everyone knows she's a true Lannister, and besides, she'll die soon – one way or another."

He chuckled at that, apparently, he didn't believe her when she told him she was a killer. Just like Sansa in the beginning. But when no one knows your story, no one can understand you.

"So, what do you think?" she pressed on impatiently. In her mind the situation was perfectly clear – Gendry just had to see it as well.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "We'll see. But till then, you are my lady."

Arya couldn't resist and stomped her foot on the ground in frustration. "Gendry, please!"

"I am sorry, my lady, there is much I need to do." He looked at the blank swords behind him. "If you'll excuse me now." And with that he bowed at her, before he turned around and resumed his smithery activities.

Arya didn't know what to do. This was not what she had expected at all! She felt the urge to punch something or better someone, but she didn't want to punch Gendry, so she let out a frustrated cry and turned around, stomping away towards the training ground, where she would use Needle – or even her bare fists – to let all the frustration and energy out of her, until she had an idea how to proceed!

* * *

_Hey everyone, I can't upload anything the next two weeks, for I will be in Italy. I also wanted to upload more than two chapters today, but I got sick… Therefore, however, there will be a lot in the beginning of April :)_


	17. Theon, Water

_Hey, I'm back (Italy was wonderful :) ). From now on I'll try to publish two or three chapters every day, so that all of them will be out before the 14th of April. If you want to guess the important questions (Who will sit on the Iron Throne? Will the White Walkers win? Will Cersei die? Is Dany pregnant? etc.), you're very welcome to do so in the reviews - I love talking about what could happen before a season :D _

Chapter 17 – Theon – Water

Theon waited for nightfall. He and his men had arrived in Braavos a few days before and had since used this time to find out as much as possible about the current situation.

It was not difficult to detect the Ironfleet – it had occupied the whole harbour. But Theon had no idea on which ship he could find Yara. It could be the main ship – Euron's personal ship – but it was also the most guarded ship and if Theon was wrong, he would risk his and Yara's freedom for nothing. Furthermore, it would be best to go at night, when Euron and most of his men were still in one of the many brothels or taverns of the city.

Theon and his men had taken rooms near the harbour and tried to stay incognito – it wouldn't help their mission if an Ironborn recognised them, and especially Theon himself. It had taken them a while to spy on the crew members and to find out if Yara was even alive – until one of Euron's men had ranted in a tavern how he didn't like having the daughter of their former King as a prisoner on their ship.

So, Yara _was_ alive, probably not in the best shape, but still alive. But when one of Theon's men tried to follow the crew members afterwards, he lost them in a crowded market place, so they still didn't know where Yara was exactly.

Now Theon and his men crouched behind a stone wall, watching the _Silence_ and waiting for Euron to leave. They had decided to risk one of their men sneaking on board to look for Yara.

They had to wait almost two hours before Euron and a few others finally left the ship for the town, laughing loudly and apparently, enjoying their time immensely.

Theon wanted to charge out of his hiding and kill his uncle with his bare hands for everything he might have done to Yara, but he restrained himself. Even if he could kill Euron, his men would kill him in the next moment, and Yara would still be a prisoner… No, he let Euron pass with gritted teeth, waited a few more minutes in case someone else left the ship or came back from town, and nodded to one of his men.

The man, Tharvle, returned the nod and sneaked towards the ship. He was the thinnest and agilest of the men, a master of disguise in the shadows, with black hair and a black beard, capable of walking inaudibly.

Theon and the rest waited for any signs, good or bad – a bell, a light, a swordfight, anything. As a signal that everything was ready for them to enter, they had arranged that Tharvle would hoot like a screech owl – one of his special abilities and a convenient signal, for there were no screech owls on the Iron Islands or Braavos. Therefore, no one would notice it and no real animal would be able to send a false alarm. But Theon knew it from Winterfell, and Tharvle had learned it on one of his travels north.

Suddenly a strange man walked towards them and sat down next to Theon behind the stone wall without even glancing at them. He had long brown hair with one white wisp of hair, wearing a beige cowl, and looked seriously to Euron's ship, as still as if he was frozen.

Theon wasn't sure how to react, he put one hand instantly on the handle of his sword, but the stranger didn't seem dangerous nor did he seem to have a weapon. He exchanged glances with his men but they were as puzzled as he was.

Then the man looked at Theon and announced solemnly: "Your sister is on that ship." He lifted one of his hands and indicated leisurely towards Euron's ship.

"How do you know?" Theon asked warily. And who are you? he added in his thoughts. But there were so many strange people in Braavos that it maybe didn't even matter.

"The Many-Faced God was promised a name," the man simply said and stared to the ship, waiting for something.

Theon frowned and the confused looks of his men showed him that they also didn't know who the Many-Faced God was supposed to be but since he had already encountered four other religions (the Drowned God, the Old Gods, the Seven, and the Lord of Light), it wasn't surprising that Braavos had its own religion.

For a few minutes, the _Silence_ remained dark and quiet and so did the Ironborn and that strange man behind the stone wall, only in the harbour around it the people spoke and laughed and drank and whored.

Suddenly they heard it: a screech owl.

"Just as I said," the man told them with a satisfied smirk. He slowly stood up. "Go, rescue and avenge your sister, Theon Greyjoy."

Before Theon could do more than gasp in shock that he knew his name and their purpose for being in the city, the man was gone, vanished into one of the many narrow alleys of Braavos.

"What now?" one of his men asked, and they all looked at Theon for guidance. "If this man knows who we are, it could be a trap."

The screech owl hooted again.

Theon looked at his men seriously. "Are you willing to risk this with me to save our Queen?"

They all nodded firmly, and so it was decided.

Cautiously, they sneaked to the ship, creeping through the shadows like night creatures. They entered the _Silence _by killing the two guards from the back, so quickly that they weren't able to make a sound.

Theon looked away when his men slit the guards' throats, for he feared to snap again, like he had when Euron's men slaughtered theirs and he hadn't been able to save his sister… He still felt his face grow hot in shame when he remembered what he had done that night.

Except for the guards the ship was deserted. Apparently, the rest of the crew enjoyed themselves in the town. Slowly, they crept towards the Captain's cabin and opened the door. It was dark at first but after some time it was possible to make out shapes. A large table stood in the middle with approximately twenty chairs around it, and the rest of the dinner was still visible: dirty plates and forks, a half-eaten ham and scraps of vegetables stood there.

"Don't shout, it's me," suddenly someone hastily hushed, and they saw Tharvle hiding in a corner. He gave Theon a grave look: "Your sister is in there," he announced and pointed to a door at the end of the room. While the men moved towards it, Tharvle continued to speak: "It is locked with a heavy metal lock."

Theon tried to open the door but, of course, it was closed. "You two, stand guard outside and notify us if they come back," he commanded two of his men, Harlaw and Wynch, who nodded and went outside.

Then he took his sword and leaped at the wooden door. Nothing happened except for a frightened cry from the inside of the room.

_Yara!_ Theon thought relieved. She _was_ alive.

"Help me," he told his men and together they used their swords like axes until it was possible to kick in the door.

Theon climbed through the remainders of the door and into a small, windowless room. A tremendous smell hit him the next moment and he gasped in disgust, almost throwing up. There was a pile of human faeces in one corner and one of rotten food in another. In the middle of it all sat a person. Her hair was ruffled, her face black with dirt, and her clothes torn. She crawled back in fear at the sudden intruders and whimpered.

Theon gulped. He knew this situation all too well and images of Ramsay threatened to take over his mind once more, but he shook them away violently. His sister needed him right now, the real him and not a wretched pretender!

Cautiously, he went nearer, raising his hands slowly to show her that he meant no harm. "Yara," he told her in a calm voice. "It's me, Theon." He crouched before her.

"Theon?" she whispered and looked up at him, her eyes slowly losing their hazy stare and instead focused on her brother. "Theon!" she suddenly yelped relived and threw herself at his arms.

She stank horribly but he didn't care at all. On the contrary, he remembered one of the happier days of his childhood. He and Yara (and maybe one of his brothers) were playing at the shore of the Pyke. Yara had tried to catch Theon who had run away laughing until he slipped and fell face flat into dead shells and algae. It had stunk terribly as well but Yara had taken him into her arms and had wiped his tears away.

"This is so gross!" his little self had complained.

"Don't worry," his older sister had told him optimistically. "The Drowned God will wash it all away."

There little Theon had laughed in joy and relief, and they had continued to play.

"Don't worry," the adult Theon whispered into her rigid hair now. "The Drowned God will wash it all away." Then he held her at arm's length and looked her in the eyes. "Are you okay?" he wanted to know.

"I'm not broken, if that's what you mean," Yara told him and already sounded like her old self again.

"Good," Theon sighed in relief. There was nothing worse than when your enemy succeeded in breaking you. He knew out of experience…

"You know you're lucky," Yara then stated with squinted eyes. "If I weren't so glad to see you rescue me out of this hell, I would be pretty pissed for leaving me in the first place!"

Theon looked down ashamed. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Let's talk about this later," she said fiercely, standing up and taking her little brother with her. "Now we need to leave this rotten ship." She looked at the men that had gone along with Theon to her rescue. "It's good to see you again," she told them grimly grinning.

"It's good to see you, too, Queen Yara," one of them replied and the rest nodded in agreement.

Yara smiled touched. "Let's go," she then said firmly, and Theon didn't mind her taking over. She was the true leader and he knew it. He felt seriously more comfortable nowadays following her than having the responsibility of leading.

They made their way through the long room of the Captain's cabin and cautiously opened the door to the outside.

"I don't see anything," one of the men whispered.

Theon and the rest looked at Yara who nodded, and they left the cabin to set foot on the open deck of the _Silence_.

"Where are Harlaw and Wynch?" Theon wondered aloud. They were supposed to stand guard, but the ship was completely deserted.

When they had reached the middle of the deck, there was suddenly a loud yell and three dozen men either entered the ship or came out of their hidings at once, shouting war cries, as if a battle would soon begin.

Theon instantly grabbed Yara's hand, wanting to protect his sister at all costs – although it was probably the other way around.

The men surrounding them were Ironborn, so it was to no surprise when Euron Greyjoy stepped into the middle, grinning widely with joy.

"Nephew," he said, raising his arms as if he wanted to greet them. "Welcome to my ship. And niece, what a beauty you have become."

Theon could feel Yara's rage – she clasped his hand so firmly that it hurt.

"I wasn't able to see it in the dark," Euron continued, laughing. "If you're looking for your guards," he pressed on, looking smug. "Here they are." And Harlaw and Wynch were thrown before their feet, so distorted with wounds that they were almost not recognisable. "And now it is finally time for you to die, too."

"No, you will die!" Yara shouted. "You killed our father, the late King. You don't deserve the Salt Throne. You are a coward, always have been a coward, running from everything, hiding far away from the real fights. Now doing Cersei's dirty work like a stupid dog while the Ironfleet should do more important things than fuck and drink!"

"Yes, we should help the North defeat the Dead or there will be no more people to rule over anymore!" Theon added and his sister nodded though she was irritated by his proposition; apparently, she hadn't heard about the northern threat, yet.

He could feel a change of atmosphere on the ship. The former hostile faces of the Ironborn became warier, more thoughtful, and he hoped that they were starting to see the wrongness of Euron's leadership and actions.

"Give me a sword and I will kill you myself," Yara announced fiercely and despite her haggard appearance, she looked like a true Iron-Queen. "Just you and me – how it was always supposed to be," she continued, but Euron didn't rise to the challenge.

Instead, he laughed and looked at his men. "Kill her," he ordered them, "and her brother. You know what, just kill them all. There's no place for traitors in this world."

Theon noticed Euron's mistake at once. An Ironborn who's not willing to fight, isn't worth following. And so the already sown doubts of the men finally turned into decisions.

"Attack!" Euron demanded furiously when no one moved. He gazed at his men with bulging eyes, one hand on his battle axe. "What's wrong with you?" he wanted to know but still no one answered. "Fine," he finally grunted. "I'll do it myself, you fucking cowards!" And he drew his axe and plunged forward with a yell and a deadly stare on his mad face.

Theon closed his eyes, for he feared he would lose it again, but then he realised that Yara had no weapon and that it was his job to protect his sister. So, he wanted to open his eyes again and face his uncle like a real Ironborn man, but he knew it would be too late. He waited for the final blow on himself or Yara's death scream next to him, but instead he heard metal clanging on metal. He quickly opened his eyes and saw his men around him in battle position, their swords unsheathed, ready for the fight. But not one of _them_ had stopped Euron, but one of his own men! Three others stood behind this one for support.

Euron stared at them with a mixture of furiousness and incredulity. "What is the meaning of this mutiny?" he roared.

"We have enough of you," the man whose sword was still keeping up with Euron's axe said. "We wanted you for our King because you promised us a Queen and a kingdom. But instead Queen Cersei banished us to Essos, you abducted and abused the daughter of our former King, you brought poisonous water on our ship and thereby disregarded the Drowned God, and lastly, you killed Hery – the best captain we ever had!"

Then everything happened so fast it seemed surreal: Euron took one look around, realised that the rest of the crew agreed with his opponent, and with one swift, quick move with his axe – he cut through the man's neck, leaving him dead and spluttering blood on the wooden floor.

Everyone peered in shock at the scene but when they saw Euron's triumphant smirk, they reacted at once. Ten men stormed towards their leader and though Euron fought vigorously, they finally chomped off the axe, together with his right hand.

Euron cried in agony and fell to his knees. "You bastards!" he shouted. "You fucking bastards!"

Instead of killing him instantly, as Theon would have expected it, the crew grabbed Euron and put his head into a bucket of water.

The man tried to fight them but he was held by five others.

Theon watched this gruesome scene in horror, his blood running hot through his veins, his forehead sweaty and he became dizzy – he would lose himself again! – when he suddenly felt someone taking his hand.

"Look at me," Yara told him firmly. "Look at _me_!"

And in the depth of her brown eyes that filled his memories with childhood joy and warmth, he found himself again.

After a while, the grunted sounds of the drowning stopped, and Theon hoped his uncle was dead for real this time. His wishes were confirmed when he heard the splash of water – the crew had thrown their former leader overboard.

Theon lost the eye contact with his sister because he had to see for himself that this horrible man was finally gone forever. He looked at the place where he had lied on the floor, but he and the bucket of water were gone. Even his hand and axe had been thrown overboard. The only remembrance that was left for now was the pool of blood on the deck – but this could be washed away easily, and then it was over at last.

"Princess Yara," someone addressed his sister and the siblings faced the crew of the _Silence_. "We are sorry for not coming to your rescue sooner." The speaker was one of the men who had stood between them and Euron. He and the rest of the crew looked at them with ashamed faces, and Theon believed them.

"It takes courage to stand up to your King, especially someone fierce and threatening as Euron," Yara admitted calmly. "I forgive you."

"Thank you," the men said sincerely. "We want you to be our Queen. You've been the right ruler from the start."

"I accept," Yara told them at once, her famous smirk finally back on her lips. "Now let's show the world the true power of the Ironborn!" she then roared, and the crew followed swiftly.

Theon smiled – it was good to have his sister back and in the position where she belonged.


	18. Gilly, Family

Chapter 18 – Gilly – Family

The moon rose high above Winterfell, and half the castle was already asleep. But Gilly walked up and down in front of the fire in the small room she shared with Sam and Little Sam. She hadn't felt this nervous in a long time, not since Sam had told her that they were a family now. Her 'husband', as she liked to call him in her mind although she knew they weren't married (yet, maybe, although she also knew that he wasn't allowed to marry since he was a Brother of the Night's Watch and an apprentice Maester), well, her 'husband' was probably still in the library. He searched day and night for a clue that could help them survive the Long Night. Gilly thought of going to him because she had to tell him something quite important – and she wasn't sure how he would react and she desperately needed to know – but Little Sam was already asleep and she didn't want to leave him here.

She had tried to read in order to calm her mind and make the waiting feel shorter, but she had not been able to concentrate. She could read the words but made no sense out of their meaning and had started to read the first sentence four times before she had given up. Although the title of the book had sounded fascinating, a story about the First Men coming to Westeros.

Then she had tried to sing to Little Sam but that had only worked until the boy had fallen asleep.

Now she went to the window and opened it, breathing in the fresh, cold air of the wintry North she was used to since her childhood. It calmed her down in seconds.

Although she had waited the whole evening for this event to happen, she startled when the door opened. Quickly she turned around, fearing the worst, but it was only Sam.

"It's just me," he smiled at her and went to warm himself in front of the fire.

Gilly sighed in relief, closed the window and went to stand by his side, taking his hand into hers. "And?" she asked him about his day in the library.

He shrugged. "Still no luck. But don't worry," he told her in his optimistic way. "I'm sure I'll find something useful, so it will become a child's play to defeat the White Walkers."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, not a child's play," he admitted, blushing. "But still easier than it is now." He took both of her hands in his now and looked at her seriously. "I will do everything I can to protect you and Little Sam, I promise."

"I know that," she smiled warmly and kissed him. She still revelled in the fact that she could kiss him whenever she wanted and that there was no one who cared about it anymore. The probably only advantage of the Northern threat…

"Um, Sam," she started shyly, knowing she had to speak sooner or later about it. "There is something important I have to tell you, and I'm not sure if you will like it or not." She stared at the floor, where the reflection of the orange flames danced on the wooden planks.

"Alright," he answered warily. "You know that you can tell me anything you like, and I won't be mad. Come here." He guided them to sit on the bed and she was glad that he kept holding her hand in his.

Gilly breathed slowly in and out before she announced quickly. "The thing is… I'm pregnant."

Sam gasped in surprise, and Gilly quickly looked at him. Apparently, he was shocked.

"I'm so sorry," she quickly added. "I should have been more careful the last time we… lay together. I know what a burden a child can be, especially in these times. If you want to we don't have to tell anyone that the child's yours and you have no obligations towards us. We can also leave if you want to, and –"

"Gilly, stop!" Sam suddenly exclaimed, putting his hands in the air.

She looked at him, fearful if he indeed will be upset with her. Gulping, with a fluttering heart, she awaited his reaction.

Instead of shouting at her or worse leaving the room without a word, he slowly lifted his hand to her cheek and stroked it gently.

She blinked a couple of times in surprise and her surprise only increased by his next words.

"My dear Gilly," he smiled. "Our family growing bigger – there could be nothing in the world that would make me happier."

Her sight was blurred by tears, and although she saw his love in his eyes, she had to probe: "You really mean that?"

His eyes were equally tearful, when he replied: "Of course, I do," and took her firmly in his arms.

Gilly held on to him, her anchor in this world, her saviour and now the real father of her child. "And by the way," she told him quickly before she would lose her courage, "it's okay with me if you treat this child differently because he is your real child and Little Sam is not."

Sam loosened himself from her so that he could look into her face. He held her shoulders and replied firmly: "Gilly, Little Sam is also my child. And nothing in all of Westeros and Essos could stop him from being so!"

Now her tears streamed over her cheeks freely and when she kissed him fiercely, she could feel his tears as well. This was the most emotional kiss she had ever had and it was her happiest moment in life. She was surrounded by her little family and the man she loved accepted the horrible truth that Little Sam's father was also his grandfather…

When they broke the kiss they smiled at each other for a while before Sam asked if he could feel her belly.

She nodded eagerly, delighted that he wanted to take part in this and not abandon her or otherwise demand her to leave.

The silence was blissful. They were warm, content, Little Sam was well asleep, the little baby apparently also. It was a wonderful, perfect moment.

"Gilly?" Sam spoke after a while and he sounded as cheerful as she felt but there was also a serious undertone in the pronunciation of her name.

"Yes?" New fears rose in her – maybe he had changed his mind? Whatever she imagined he would say she could have never guessed his next words.

"Will you marry me?"

She wanted to say 'yes' at once, but she had always been the reason in their relationship and so once more she had to ask the important questions first before they could embrace their new future together. "Are you allowed to marry me?"

"No," he admitted grinning. "But who would prevent us? No one at the Wall cares, Jon doesn't care, the Queen doesn't care. Everyone is preoccupied with the fight against the White Walkers. We can do whatever we please and be cheerful about it."

She thought about this for a moment, then a huge smiled spread on her face. "Yes, Sam Tarly, I want to be your wife."

She was sure that she had never seen her 'husband' merrier in his life.


	19. Meera, Letter

Chapter 19 – Meera – Letter

It was good to be home again. After years of travelling the North and the 'real North', Meera was again with the people who understood her and were able to comfort her, no matter what. Greywater Watch had not been difficult to find, at least not for her. The castle was rumoured to be moving in the swamps of the Neck, but in reality, it only looked like this because the surroundings changed tremendously every day and travellers and even ravens always got confused by this. But not her, she always knew how to come home; her mother had shown her once the landmarks that always remained at their places.

Her mother had wept for days, when Meera had returned home without her brother, and it took her some time to convince her mother that Jojen didn't die in vain and that this had been his purpose in life. She wasn't certain if that was actually true, but it felt better than the imaginable alternatives and it was something Jojen would have told her for comfort.

And then there was Kara, her three-year-old little sister, who had not been born when Meera and Jojen had started their journey. Kara Snow, of course, and Meera had refrained from asking too many questions. It had taken a while before the two of them had accepted each other as sisters. But Kara was a sweet, little girl, and Meera couldn't be mad with their mother for needing some comfort in the arms of another man. Her father had been dead for many years.

Meera was glad to have something to do. She helped her mother and the few servants that were left with everything in the small castle and played with Kara when there was a moment of free time. Now, in winter with all the snow, they couldn't work on the potatoes, carrots, and wheat fields around the castle, so there was more free time than usually.

The evenings were often filled with Meera's adventures, but the more gruesome parts were only told when Kara was fast asleep. Her mother wanted to know every detail to better understand and probably process what had happened to her children, especially her son.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't able to save him," Meera had said more than once, whenever her story reached this sad part.

"It's not your fault," her mother always told her, hugging her, comforting her. "It's not your fault." Like a mantra, and with time the message slowly sank in, and Meera was able to sleep without a nightmare every night.

One day when the small family was eating breakfast, a rider from Moat Cailin came with a letter. "A raven from Winterfell for the young Lady Reed," he told them and gave Meera the letter. 'Lady Reed', she scoffed in her mind. It had been ages since she had been called that – if she would ever get used to it again?

"Thank you," her mother told the rider and he left them again.

Meera looked at the wax sigil and found a direwolf. This could mean only one thing: the letter was from Bran.

She had the sudden urge to simply throw it into the open flames of the chimney fire, without even opening it, and the paper wrinkled in her clenched fist.

"Meera?" her mother cautiously asked. "Is everything alright?"

She sighed deeply and replied: "Yes." Then she tore the letter open and read it quickly. It wasn't very long.

_Dear Meera,_

_you are needed in Winterfell. Please take your sword and come as soon as possible. It is vital for our fight against the White Walkers. _

_I am sorry for my behaviour. It is difficult for me to explain but I will try when you come to Winterfell. _

_Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell_

Meera frowned. She was needed in Winterfell? But why? And why would he mention her sword? Of course, she wouldn't go anywhere without it, not in these dangerous times they lived – it could stop both men and Others.

"Bad news?" her mother wanted to know and because Meera could not find words to explain the situation to her at the moment, she simply gave her the letter.

Meera couldn't sit anymore. She paced quickly in front of the fire and thought about this letter. She absolutely didn't want to leave her mother again, and not for Bran, the ice-cold raven. Over their adventure, she had started to have a crush on him, but he didn't need her, so he had sent her away without even a proper goodbye. She had felt so humiliated and hurt. Her brother had died for this boy! And he wasn't even able to say thank you in the correct way! No, she definitely didn't want to go to Winterfell – but she knew that she would. Jojen had died for Bran, because he believed that the Stark boy would be important in the Long Night, and if Bran said he needed her now, then, of course, she had to follow. Or her brother had died in vain after all.

"Is this the Bran you travelled with?" her mother asked when she had finished the letter.

Meera turned around quickly. "Yes, he is," she spat and couldn't hide her anger.

"Do you intend to go?"

Meera sighed. "I have to. For Jojen. And for you." She looked from her mother to Kara who played with some wooden toy blocks, oblivious to the conversation around her.

Her mother stood up and came to her. "It pains me to see you leave again," she told her sincerely and placed her hands on Meera's shoulders. "But if it is important, then, of course, you have to go."

Meera nodded, then quickly hugged her mother. "Thank you for understanding."

"Please, come back to me," her mother whispered into her hair.

"I'll try," was everything she could promise. When her father had left Greywater Watch to fight, he hadn't come back. The last time Meera and Jojen had left the castle, her brother had not returned. Would it be her turn this time?


	20. Talla, Hero

Chapter 20 – Talla – Hero

Talla's eyes widened when she saw Winterfell for the first time. She had always imagined the castle differently; grimmer and colder. But it looked rather interesting with its round towers and a tree with red leaves in the backyard. Completely different from Horn Hill. Besides, everything was covered in snow and it looked wonderful. But why were there so many tents around the castle? An army? But no, the soldiers were all different, as well. Maybe these were all the inhabitants that wanted to live in Winterfell but had no place?

So, for a moment Talla could forget her grief and just marvel the wondrous sight, but then she remembered why she came here in the first place and the grief returned.

The carriage drove into the yard and the inhabitants of Winterfell stared at her as if she was some foreign beauty. No, she knew she wasn't a beauty and definitely not foreign, but maybe for Northerners, the people in the South were as foreign as people from Essos were for her.

Her maid told the guards who had arrived in this carriage and someone sent for her brother.

_Sam_, she smiled to herself. How she missed him. First, he had suddenly joined the Night's Watch and then he had left for Old Town. He had written her several letters, explaining his sudden behaviour when he had fled Horn Hill in the middle of the night, and where he had been going. Therefore, she knew he was in Winterfell right now.

"Talla?" her brother's irritated voice reached her ear. "What are you doing here?"

Talla spun around and ran towards her brother, hugging him fiercely. "I've missed you," she replied and the tears she had tried to hold back on her journey, now streamed over her face. "I wanted to grieve together."

"Oh, Talla," Sam sighed heart-brokenly and stroked her back in a comforting way.

They stayed like this for a few moments and Talla didn't care that everyone could see them, here she was finally with her brother once more – and she wouldn't leave him soon!

After a while, she straightened again, wiped her tears away and smiled. "How are you, dear brother?" she wanted to know in a hopefully light tone.

"I'm fine," Sam answered at once, smiling as well. "And you? And mother?"

"Mother!" Talla shouted angrily. "Mother cried for a week when we heard the news about Father and Dickon," she gulped as she remembered that horrible moment, but continued in the same way, "and then she accepted to marry Lord Edgerran."

"Of House Oakheart?" Sam asked shocked.

"Yes, the same. She told me she was too young to be a widow. But really, after not even a month after Father's death?" She shook her head in disbelief. "So, you see I couldn't stay there."

"But how did you know I was here?" Sam inquired with the same astonished face he already had as a boy.

"Silly," Talla scolded him playfully. "You've told me yourself in one of your letters."

"Of course," Sam mumbled, blushing. "I'm glad you're here. I've missed you too, you know."

Talla smiled when her gaze fell on the sword at Sam's side and she shook her head in amusement. "I can't believe you actually stole _Heartsbane_. Well, it's definitely yours now." Her face turned sad again when she remembered why the sword was Sam's now.

Sam nodded in the same grievance, then he led her inside while the servants brought her trunk towards the guest rooms. "I guess we should go see Jon. Winterfell is a bit preoccupied at the moment, so we'll need to find a room for you. But even if there aren't any available, you can stay with me and Gilly and Little Sam if you like."

"I'd love to," Talla smiled and was already glad she came. She preferred the hustle and bustle of a full castle than the quietness at home. Here she wouldn't have a lot of time to reflect what had happened and her grief would at least vanish throughout the day. "_Why_ is Winterfell so preoccupied? I saw the masses of tents outside. Is there another war raging again?"

"Um, kind of," Sam admitted but felt somewhat uneasy. "See, I've not written about it so not to upset you, but yes, there's going to be a huge war. So, maybe it wasn't the best idea for you to come…"

"Well, now I'm here, so tell me, what's going on?"

"Um, I'll explain later. Now I want you to meet my best friend Jon, so you can freshen up in your room after this long journey. I'll tell you this evening, alright?"

Talla nodded and for her brother's sake replied gleefully: "I always wanted to meet the King in the North, especially after everything you've written about him."

Sam smiled and while they walked towards the Great Hall, he explained that this King in the North was already the second one, after Robb had died, and his sister listened to him with the same eagerness she had possessed when they had been little.

In front of the Great Hall, Sam told the guards his request and they were allowed to pass.

Talla looked around the hall with wide eyes. Everything looked so different from home! The walls and floor were built from grey rough stone, the furniture from massive wood. There were no pictures or ornaments at the walls, only a few also grey banners with the Stark's direwolf sigil on them, and merely a few candles lit the room. If there hadn't been people inside it, it would have looked deserted. Her gaze came around to look at the few people that stood in the middle of the room, talking.

Sam stepped towards them. "Jon, my sister Talla has arrived," he announced joyfully.

A man with curly black hair turned around, smiled and strode nearer.

"Talla, this is Jon Snow, the King in the North," Sam told her proudly.

Talla curtsied at once. "Your Grace," she said and hoped she hadn't forgotten her childhood lessons.

To her surprise, however, Jon chuckled. "Please, you don't have to curtsy before me." He offered her his hand and she took it. "Welcome to Winterfell," he greeted friendly but Talla realised that something was bothering him. Then he turned around and pointed with his hand to a beautiful young woman with long white hair. "May I present Queen Daenerys, Queen of the Andals and First Man, the Unburnt, um…." He stopped, pondering, then he winked at a girl with bushy brown hair and very dark eyes. "You know it better, Missandei, can you please continue?"

The girl smiled, then said in a solemn voice: "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains."

Talla didn't listen to this long list of titles. She stared at the white-haired woman and rage started to boil inside her. Finally, she turned to her brother and demanded to know furiously: "What's _she_ doing here?!" while pointing accusingly at the so-called queen.

"Um," Sam shrunk under her intense gaze. "Um, you know, things changed since…" He stopped and stared at his feet.

Talla faced the Mother of Dragons. "She killed our father and brother. Her dragon burnt them alive!" Her voice grew into a shriek, filled with rage and grief. "They only fulfilled their duty as bannermen and stayed loyal to Crown and country till the end, and for that, they were killed in this horrible manner! And now she is here instead of a cell?! No, she has to pay for what she has done!" And without thinking about her actions, she stepped forward towards the white-haired witch. She wanted to scratch her face and pull at her hair until this woman felt the same pain she still felt inside her heart because she would never see her father and brother again!

Quickly the guards rose their spears and swords, but there was only one person brave enough to step in her way immediately.

She stopped at once and stared at the small man in front of her. She knew _one_ dwarf. Was this person him? He looked different than he had around 15 years ago. His hair was darker, he had a beard and a huge scar in the middle of his face. But then she saw his eyes, his beautiful miss-matched eyes that gazed at her with the same curiosity and kindness they had all those years ago.

"It's you," she whispered in awe, and all of her rage was left for utter surprise, slowly followed by joy. "You're Tyrion Lannister."

"I am," he confirmed, still looking warily at her.

A guard came closer, eager to grab her, but Tyrion lifted his hand and the man stopped.

"You're my hero," she whispered, smiling, now oblivious to everything around her except for the man in front of her. "Do you remember?" She would never forget that day:

When Talla had been around 10, the Lannisters had visited her father and Horn Hill for a tourney in honour of Samwell's 14th name day. She had worn a wonderful green dress she had made herself (with the help of her mother, of course) and her hair in the fashion of the adults. She had been so happy until she had wandered off on her own between the tents and a few local boys thought it would be fun to hurt a high-born girl. They had called her mean names, shoved her into the mud, and pulled at her hair, destroying her hairstyle, dress – and dignity. She had cried many tears but they hadn't stopped until someone called in a loud, authoritative voice to leave her alone. The boys had turned around and laughed at the small man in their way.

"And why would we be scared off by a dwarf?" they had shouted in glee.

"Because my father is Tywin of House Lannister," Tyrion had announced in a voice that left no doubts. "Now off with you before I also get my brother Jaime – you know, the Kingslayer."

The boys had looked at each other and probably thought it best to believe the man and not face the consequences if they were wrong. They hurried away, but not before shoving Talla once more into the mud.

Tears streamed over her cheeks at this humiliation when she saw a hand in her line of gaze. Still sitting on the ground, she looked up at her saviour who smiled at her reassuringly.

"It's alright, my lady," he said. "They're gone now, and I'll make sure they'll never bother you again."

Slowly Talla took the hand that was as small as her own and let herself help to get up. Now she was a head taller than her hero but she didn't care. He had saved her, and she would be forever grateful for this.

"Thank you, my lord," she told him, blushing furiously.

Afterwards, Tyrion had brought her back to her mother (who had hurried away with her to the castle to change into another dress) and in such a tactful manner that no one except her mother and maids had seen her in her dirty dress.

She hadn't seen him after that ever again, and thought she never would, but kept listening to any news from King's Landing, regarding him.

"You saved me from those boys," she told him now. "Do you remember?"

He seemed to actively think about it before his eyes widened in recognition. "Of course," he whispered as if to himself. "The little girl in the green dress – on your brother's name day."

Her heart swelled at these words and she realised that the crush she had developed after their only encounter had never left her in all those years. They looked into each other's eyes, and everything around them became unimportant.

Suddenly someone cleared their throat. Talla looked up and saw Daenerys staring at her coldly. "You attempted to hurt me," she said matter-of-factly. "This is treason."

Tyrion wiped around in an instance. "Please, your Grace," he started but was interrupted by her intense stare. At the same time, Sam and Jon had moved closer to Talla, ready to protect her as well, but she had only eyes for Tyrion who wanted to rescue her once more.

"But since you are the sister of the man who cured my most loyal friend," the queen continued, smiling shortly at an old man with sad eyes, that Talla hadn't even noticed before that, "I will overlook this incident. But," she emphasised in a firm voice, "if something like this ever happens again, you will meet the same fate as your father and brother have."

Talla gulped in a mixture of grief and rage but felt suddenly two hands holding each of her arms as if to restrain her if necessary. One was her brother's, but the other was to her utter surprise Tyrion's.

"I know war can be painful sometimes, my lady," he gently spoke, "but try to see both sides of it and seek comfort in your brother's company."

She nodded slightly and let herself be led out of the hall, over a few corridors and into a room. She would not be able to make her way back later without help, she realised, but she didn't care. Tears blurred her sight and horrible images swam through her mind as she imagined how a dragon's fire burned a body.

Someone gently made her sit on the bed and the two hands left her. She looked up at the sudden loss of contact, searching the room. Jon, Sam, and Tyrion were with her in what looked like a guest room, probably her room for the time being; she found her trunk next to the bed.

Sam sat down next to her on the bed and put an arm around her shoulders in a comforting manner.

"I'll leave you to it," the King in the North mumbled, exited the room and closed the door behind him.

"I should leave, too," Tyrion stated and moved towards the door, but Talla stopped him.

"Please, stay," she whispered and looked at her hero desperately. She liked his comfort, she wanted his comfort, as much as her brother's. She knew it was insane – she had only met this man once, 15 years ago – but still, she couldn't bear to let him go so soon after she had finally found him again.

Tyrion looked at her surprised but sat down on a chair in silence.

Talla turned her head to look at her brother. "I don't understand why she is here. Or why you are here with her," she spoke in confusion, her voice weak from crying although the tears were already drying on her cheeks.

"Much has happened and much has changed since I left and since our father and brother… died," Sam told her in his best teaching voice. And so he, with the occasional help from Tyrion, told her everything: about the White Walkers and the Long Night to come, about the need of Daenerys' dragons and armies, and about the importance in life to know when to forgive and when to forget.

Afterwards, Talla remained silent, there was much she had to think about. "I'd like to have a moment for myself if you don't mind," she finally pleaded without looking up.

"Of course," Sam agreed at once although she could hear the worry and hurt in his voice. She wasn't angry with him for not grieving as much as her, she knew that Father had never been good to him, but she still wanted, no needed to be alone, to sort her thoughts. "I'll fetch you before dinner. Gilly will be happy to see you again."

A small smile crept onto her face as she remembered the lovely wildling girl and her little nephew. For her, the origin of Sam's partner didn't matter as long as the woman loved her brother and was supporting him.

Sam stood up from the bed and after kissing her head, he left for the door.

She heard Tyrion stand up as well but to her surprise, he came to stand in front of her. Irritated, she looked up and met his wonderful brown and green eyes looking sorrowful and regretful.

"I want you to know that I tried to stop her from burning your family," he told her sincerely.

Talla watched him a moment but found no hint of lying. "I believe you," she replied. "Thank you."

He nodded at her and left the room as well.

When Talla was alone, she fell backwards on the bed and started to cry anew. Here she was, thinking that she would find solace in Winterfell, but crying bitterly in the growing dark of a strange castle with the reason of her grief ruling it.


	21. Tormund, Castle

Chapter 21 – Tormund – Castle

There are 19 castles that roam the Wall, from Eastwatch by the Sea until Shadow Tower. This was the fourth castle they had reached.

Luckily for Tormund he wasn't the only survivor after the Army of the Dead had destroyed Eastwatch – he had found Beric at the first castle and had given them both almost a heart-attack when they had realised there had been someone else lurking in the shadows.

They marched together to Castle Black now, and Tormund wasn't sure if they had already reached the middle of their journey. Beric didn't know either, but they both were aware that probably the world's survival rested on their shoulders now. Therefore, they tried to travel as quickly as possible throughout the day and slept only a few hours in the night.

In the first castle that they had encountered along the Wall, they had found some provisions, like torchlights, new clothes, or even some furs that they used in the nights they had to sleep outside. And although Tormund hated to admit it, he was wearing black. He definitely hated the colour, always had, and it made absolutely no sense to wear black when you were trying to hide in the snow, but he grudgingly had to admit also that the coats of the Crows were wonderfully warm. So, yes, he wore a black Crow coat over his own Free Folk clothes. He was just glad that no one of the others could see him…

Unfortunately, there was no food left in the castles, not even those with a long storability like wheat or honey or salt – some animals probably had been faster. But Tormund and Beric were experienced hunters and so they were able to roast a rabbit, bird, or squirrel every evening.

"Now, look at that," Tormund told Beric when they searched the fourth castle for practical tools. He had found a bear fur and a beautiful one it was.

"I have found something even better," Beric replied and held up a polished axe with rubies and gold ornaments.

Tormund shook his hand. "The Crows are so fucking stupid." Why would anyone leave something worthy like this behind? In the North, the real North, there was no use for gold or jewels but he knew that Southerners would do anything to get money.

Later that evening after they had roasted today's dinner over one of the Crows' hearths, they sat next to the fire, on soft furs, and were both stuck in their gloomy thoughts.

Tormund's gaze fell on the bear fur he had found, and it gave him an idea of how to lighten up the mood. "Did you know I once fucked a bear?" he asked right away.

Beric frowned at him sceptically. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, it's true," Tormund grinned and told his most famous story. "I found her in the woods one time and she was so friendly she invited me back to her cave and then we did it. Her name was Shella."

Beric still didn't look convinced and finally laughed.

"You don't believe me?" Tormund asked hurt.

"The Lord of Light grants even stranger things," Beric told him smiling, "so why not this."

The wildling had the feeling that the other still didn't believe him – and to be honest he had made up the story a long while ago. How could anyone ever fuck a bear? That was insane! But it made one hell of a party story and many ladies had loved him because of his braveness and strength.

He looked again at the beautiful bear fur and had another thought: "I want to bring this fur to the big woman. Do you think she'll like it?"

Beric shrugged. "If you don't tell her the bear story, why not?"

"Why shouldn't I?" The women in the North had always enjoyed his story – except for Ygritte but she had set her eyes already on Jon Snow.

His companion sighed. "You know, the women in the South, especially the ladies, like your Brienne is, want to be captured by someone who is true and appropriate and charming."

"But my Brienne is no real lady, she's a warrior." The biggest woman he had ever seen. "I guess she wants someone who's brave and fearless and strong, just like me."

"Maybe," Beric shrugged once more. "I don't know her."

"Do you have a family somewhere?"

The man with the eye-patch sighed heavily. "I once had a girl back in King's Landing, who bore me a son, a bastard, of course. I'm not sure if they're still alive, it's been so many years since I left…"

Tormund nodded in understanding. "I have two daughters. My wife died when they were young, so I raised them together with my sister. When I went with most of my Folk to join Mance Rayder, I left them with her. I'm not sure either if they're still alive. The White Walkers could have passed our village on their way south…"

The two men stared into the flames for a while, both again stuck with sad thoughts.

"I want to have babies with her," Tormund continued after a while and he sounded determined. "I want Brienne to be my new wife and start a family with her. And when the war is won and she is by my side, I will return to our village, and if my daughters and sister are still well, we will be a happy and strong family all together."

Beric smiled at this idea. "I wish you the guidance of all the Gods there are, so this dream becomes reality."


	22. Arya, Training

Chapter 22 – Arya – Training

Arya looked over the bunch of women that had gathered in the yard they used for training. Fortunately, it hadn't started to snow, yet. "Alright everyone," she shouted. "Come closer."

Brienne and Lyanna confidently went next to the young but experienced instructor of the day, while Sansa, Daenerys, Missandei, Gilly, and Talla shovelled forward, looking absolutely uncomfortable.

Arya was delighted. "Welcome to our fight training session," she grinned. "Wonderful, that you could all make it."

"No wonder, when Jon's forcing us," Sansa complained.

"And he is right to do so," Arya told her firmly. "Even though we are women, noble women above all, we also have an obligation for the security of our land, in this case not only the North, but all of Westeros. It may not come to it but it is possible that even the noble women of this country have to fight against the Others – and we are here to prepare you." She smiled at the warrior and the girl next to her. "Brienne and Lyanna have agreed to help us. Brienne will show you how to fight with a sword, Lyanna takes over the spear, and I teach you how to use a dagger properly. All of these weapons come in handy when a wight tries to kill you – especially when you get a dragonglass weapon, which I'm sure we'll all get sooner or later. Gendry's working hard on it." She couldn't help a smile at the diligence of her man – although she was still mad with him for not wanting to _be_ her man, because she was a 'lady'. She wished he could see her now, doing what she did best – he would take it back at once! "Alright, split up and start with one weapon. After a while, we will change until you all had the chance to try out every weapon and find out what is the right choice for you."

The women sighed at this prospect. Apparently, no one wanted to be outside in the cold right now and try different weapons, but they had no choice.

"I have dragons…" Daenerys mumbled angrily but Arya simply ignored her.

"Get started," she yelled, and the women slowly moved.

At first, she was allowed to train with Gilly and Missandei, which she was grateful for – they were the quietest and most enduring of the group. They were not eager to stab the air with a dagger, learning how to use it correctly, but at least they did everything Arya told them without complaining.

Next, she had Talla alone as her student – which meant that lastly, she would have to put up with Sansa _and _Daenerys – that would be fun… Talla was okay. She was so nervous, she talked non-stop and giggled whenever she stabbed a person in her imagination. In Arya's opinion, that girl was mental.

And then there it was: her lovely sister and the Dragonqueen stood in front of her, both with their arms crossed over their chests and sour expressions.

Arya sighed before she started to explain everything a third time that day.

"How long do we still have to do this?" Sansa asked after while, sounding annoyed. "I have better things to do than holding a dagger the correct way."

Arya had many mean retorts in her mind, like: 'Fine, go – but don't come back crying when a White Walker kills you!' but she just ignored her sister. The Faceless Man had not only shown her excellent fighting techniques but also how to stay level-headed in all circumstances.

"Very well, everyone," she shouted after a while and they all stopped with their training. "I guess that was good." She forced a smile. From what she had seen, only Missandei and Gilly had the true determination to fight but they weren't in it with their thoughts. If she could, Arya would send them all for a few weeks to Braavos to train with the Faceless Man. He would find a way to make them flightworthy! "You have until tomorrow to decide which weapon you want to train with – and then we will train at least every second day until you all know how to defend yourselves."

Suddenly they heard a chuckle and looked up at the balustrade to find the King in the North along with the Queen's Hand observing them.

"I don't know what could go wrong," Jon laughed and came down the steps. "When you fight with us, the White Walkers won't stand a chance."

"You're not fair," Tyrion scolded although he seemed to be amused as well. "We should give them credit for even trying."

"You call that 'trying'?" Jon laughed even harder.

"That's it!" Daenerys shouted angrily, formed a ball out of the snow at her feet and threw it at Jon.

When it hit the King in the North right into the face, his laughter stopped. For a moment, he was shocked, while Daenerys hid her laughter, then he grinned. "You're on," he told her and formed a snowball himself.

"No!" the Dragonqueen squealed when he aimed it at her and ran away.

Jon was directly behind her and like small children, they laughed, ran away from each other and started a snowball fight in the middle of the yard.

The rest of the group started laughing as well. Even Lyanna Mormont, although she shook her head and mumbled: "I'm the only child here and _I_ find this childish!"

Arya had to agree but the sight of the fierce Mother of Dragons, the conqueror of Essos and Westeros, together with her stoic brother in a snowball fight was absolutely surreal and hilarious.

Tyrion stepped next to her, observing the scene smirking. "Good to see that there can still be some fun around here," the little Lannister grinned.

"Oh, believe me, there will be more fun," Arya promised him with a wicked smile before shaking at the beam of the lug that was over Tyrion's head and a bunch of snow fell right on top of him.

"I believe I deserved that," he simply said while shaking the snow from his head and body.

Arya smiled and Talla chuckled joyfully.

When their eyes had turned back towards the King and Queen who still played in the snow, now joined by Missandei, Gilly, and eventually, Talla and Lyanna, while Brienne overlooked them like a content mother looked over her children, Lord Tyrion told Arya in a sincere voice: "Thank you for this. I am grateful to know that because of your guidance even the noble women have a chance in his war if the worst comes."

She nodded at him. She was glad that her complaining, often annoying sister was part of this group, too.


	23. Sansa, Obligations

Chapter 23 – Sansa – Obligations

Sansa sat at the table in the Great Hall and stared at the figures and numbers before her. It was already late, everyone had retired to their rooms, but she couldn't sleep. There just wasn't enough food for everyone! And she had no idea how to solve this problem which fell under her responsibility as Lady of Winterfell.

She sighed loudly and stared at the black windows where new falling snow seemed to taunt her.

"You're still up?" a voice made its owner quietly known but Sansa startled anyway.

She whipped her head around and saw Tyrion standing in the doorframe. She relaxed at once – there was no harm to be feared from the smallest Lannister and Hand of the Queen. "Yes, I can't sleep," she answered with a smile and offered him a seat next to her at the table.

He nodded gratefully and sat down, his eyes automatically scanning the parchments in front of her.

"It doesn't look good," Sansa confided in him. "Currently, we only have food and other supplies for about 14 months. It would have worked for the normal Winterfell population – all the farmers around agreed to help – but now with thousands of men (and horses) in Daenerys' army, we could run out of food in a year. And this is the worst winter in a long time, said Maester Wolkan." She sighed again and showed him the figures; she trusted him and his advice enough to seek his counsel. "The petitioners grow more annoying every day – and most of their requests are not even that important. I wish I could spend more time with the real problems…"

Tyrion looked over the numbers for a few minutes but his face didn't lighten up. "Well, then we have to figure out something," he finally stated and smiled at her slightly. "I can promise you that when the White Walkers are defeated, and Daenerys sits on the Iron Throne, we will help the North to survive. Winterfell has done all of us a great favour by letting us stay here. You know, the South remembers as well." He winked at her and Sansa couldn't help a chuckle. "But for now, we need other solutions."

"I have a few ideas," Sansa timidly offered. "But they're probably insane."

He nodded for her to go on and so she began.

"For once, I have noticed that the South holds more livestock. So, I thought we could start with this as well. If we breed more pigs and cows, there is more to slaughter later, so we have more meat. And the second idea, well, you probably know that Winterfell was built on a hot spring. That's why it's here considerably warmer than in the surrounding area."

He nodded knowingly.

"What if we start to plant crops in the cellar where it's warmest, and light it with many torches."

Tyrion looked at her baffled at the idea but he replied: "It sounds strange, plants in the cellar, but I guess it's worth a try."

Sansa smiled contently at that and they continued to discuss these and other ideas further. In the end, she was calmer, for now she had some plans what to do.

"This is like old times," she remarked afterwards. "When you would come back to our chambers and complain about the problems the Master of Coin has to face."

"Yes," he smiled tentatively.

"Tyrion, there is something I need to ask you," Sansa then said and her changed tone made it clear how important her question would be. She had debated with herself if she should ask him, if she wanted to hear the answer, but she had decided that the truth was always better than a vague guess or rumours.

"Alright," he agreed, though warily.

She looked him straight in the eyes and asked without faltering: "Did you kill your father?"

Tyrion's eyes widened at this question, he probably hadn't expected it, but he gulped before answering in a clear voice: "Yes, I did."

She couldn't prevent her face from looking shocked. Her Tyrion actually _killed_ someone?! She had told Arya only a few days ago that in her opinion he wasn't capable of something dreadful like this. "Why?" she wanted to know and hoped that his answer would adjust the righteous picture she had of him again.

"He wanted to kill me for a crime I didn't commit," he replied, and his agony was obvious on his face. "He simply wanted to kill me for what I am. He had tormented me my whole life, made me feel like shit, and I couldn't take it anymore."

Sansa merely nodded at this information, not at all shocked anymore. Hatred, pain was something she could relate to. "But you didn't kill Joffrey?" she dug deeper.

"No," Tyrion shook his head. "Though he was a terrible boy, he was still my nephew."

"I thought so," Sansa smiled shortly at him. Then she whispered with haunted eyes: "I sometimes wish I could see his dead body. I left the wedding before he was dead, so sometimes I dream that he's still alive and comes after me." She shuddered at the memory of these nightmares.

"If it's any solace to you, the Sept of Baelor exploded with wildfire," Tyrion offered, trying to hide his hurt over his family's tragedy with a teasing face. "I can assure you that there is absolutely nothing left of him."

Sansa looked at him shocked. The whole Sept of Baelor was gone? It had been a huge massive building. "What happened?"

Tyrion snorted. "My sister happened, what else."

Sansa thought about this for a moment, and oddly enough it _did_ comfort her to know that Joffrey had no resting place anymore. He was truly gone. She could breathe more freely now.

Tyrion cleared his throat nervously. "I hope you don't think ill of me for killing my father. It was an action I'm not proud of but it was derived out of emotions, hate and grief most of all." His eyes told her that there was something he didn't tell her, but she didn't force him.

"No, I don't," she told him sincerely and faced him completely, so that they sat opposite of each other now. "Hate is something I can understand. And killing the person that has hurt and tormented you, is also something I can understand."

Apparently, her bitter face frightened him, for he asked tentatively: "Sansa?"

"I killed Ramsay," she stated firmly and without any signs of regret. "Or well, I watched his dogs lacerate him. But it was me who let them to him in the first place." She wasn't sure how he would react to her confession, after all, that meant that she wasn't the innocent, little girl anymore she had been in King's Landing. She had changed over the last years, in some parts drastically. Suddenly, she feared that he would distance himself from her from now on.

But Tyrion had no such thoughts; on the contrary, he offered her a compassionate face. "I am sorry you had to endure such a horrible marriage."

Here, Sansa's face lightened up and she smiled at him warmly. "You definitely were the better husband."

Tyrion snorted. "Anyone is better than Ramsay Bolton," he insisted sarcastically.

"But still," she continued quietly, then her face grew serious. She had something to do, and why not do it now? "Tyrion," she spoke, and he looked at her curious at her sudden change of tone. "I want to apologise to you."

"For what?" he asked, blinking in confusion.

"For being nothing more than a frightened, stupid child when we were married," she told him quickly and with a hardened, bitter face at these memories. "You were by far the kindest person in all of King's Landing. You've never treated me like your possession or plaything, but like a real lady. You've even forsaken the consummation of our marriage because you knew I didn't want it, but still never visited a brothel again. And I on the other hand was such a difficult wife. Always crying and never appreciating anything you did for me. Especially after the Red Wedding," she gulped, before continuing, "although I knew you had no part in it. And for never standing up for you when someone ridiculed your height or appearance. And-" she would have talked at length more, she had had the past several years to think about everything that had happened and regret it, but Tyrion stopped her.

"Sansa, please," he interrupted her firmly and laid his hand on hers in a gesture of comfort. "I thank you for these words with all my heart, but you must know that I've never been angry with you because of your behaviour. Sad, yes, and frustrated because I wanted to make you happy but had no idea how. But not angry, never angry."

She smiled at him in glee and put her other hand on top of his. "That's a relief to know." For the past years, she had hated herself for the way she had treated him and feared his hatred towards her. But here they were, with no hard feelings, finally friends. "Now that I'm older I can better understand everything, and I know now that you are the perfect gentleman, the best husband a girl can wish for. You are the prince in shining armour that most little girls dream of, the one who comes to rescue the maiden."

He scoffed at that and she quickly continued.

"Not because of your appearance, no, but because of your inner beauty. You have the kindest soul that ever lived, and I wish I could have seen it already back in King's Landing. I don't regret the marriage with you," she told him in earnest and offered him her warmest smile. She was glad that she had learned over the years to be courageous enough to speak her mind.

Tyrion needed a moment to calm his emotions before he could reply: "I don't regret the marriage with you, either."

They stared deeply into each other's eyes for a while, until Sansa suddenly realised that he could take her words in another way than purely friend-ly, which she didn't want because she had no inclination of hurting him. "It seems as if we both would make a wonderful match," she stated matter-of-factly and continued quickly because he opened his mouth to respond something, "but I am sorry to tell you that I found someone else." She gulped nervously, for she had told no one that she was in love, not even Jon or Arya. But right now, she had to be honest with Tyrion, although she wouldn't go into details if he asked. No one needed to know that she harboured feelings for Theon, wherever he was right now. If he ever came back, she could try to make arrangements then – if he wanted her, that is…

"Oh," Tyrion made at first, but then he shook his head and told her honestly: "I understand. And I've never expected anything from you. You were 14 when we married, we have lived most of our time since then apart. There are no obligations or ties. So, please don't be sorry." He smiled at her warmly. "I've told you at our wedding day: 'I am yours and you are mine', but only if you want me."

"Thank you, Tyrion," she told him relieved and embraced him.

And as he hugged her back, they both knew it was in friendship, and it felt better than any kind-of-marriage they had shared before, for this was finally genuine.


	24. Jaime, Oathkeeper

Chapter 24 – Jaime – Oathkeeper

Jaime Lannister must have made a new record for riding from King's Landing to Winterfell in the fewest days possible. He remembered how long it had taken him the last time, but then again, travelling with the King and Queen and all their guards and other people of court took longer than a single man on horseback. Furthermore, he had seldomly stayed at an inn and never for the night, in fear that his sister would send men after him to bring him back.

"No one walks away from me," she had told him firmly, but still he had.

Even after days of travelling alone, he hadn't made up his mind if he had done the right thing or not. Yes, he wanted to destroy the Undead, and yes, even for him – a man without honour – it was important to keep his promises, or rather that of his sister, but was leaving Cersei for this worth it?

Sometimes he had cursed that he had gone alone but the only person he could have taken with him had been Bronn and he was far happier in his castle with his wife – and whores, of course. Besides, it probably would not have been very prudent to bring the man with him to Daenerys, who had shot on her dragons…

The only thing he could grab on his hasty flight from the capital was the Valyrian sword he had inherited from Joffrey. He himself might not use it but if Valyrian steel really killed White Walkers, this sword would bring value for anyone who would swing it.

He hated the snow and its cold. It had been a shock for him to see snow already falling down on King's Landing, for how wintery and cold must be the North then. And indeed there had been nights where he had thought he would freeze to death and had been afraid to fall asleep, hungrily as always sitting close to the small campfire.

When he finally saw Winterfell with its enormous number of tents surrounded, he felt like crying. Here his journey would end, whether in death or not, but the pain of the road would definitely end at last. He hoped for food, a bath, and a warm bed but knew how unlikely it could be to get his wishes fulfilled.

He rode through the camp and saw the masses of Daenerys' army, and these weren't even everyone if their intelligence in King's Landing had been correct. It took the guards quite long to detect him and even longer before someone stopped him – in front of the gates of Winterfell.

"Oy, stop it, you," one of them barked and Jaime halted his horse. "Who're you?"

"I am Jaime Lannister," he replied calmly although he understood the danger of the situation – he was the one who had brought Ned Stark's downfall, despite not being present at his execution. "I'd like to speak to Queen Daenerys." He found it ridiculous to call her 'queen' since the true Queen, the actual person who sat on the Iron Throne, was his sister. But it would probably anger the Targaryen girl and her army if he didn't announce the title properly.

The three guards whispered quickly with each other until one of them hurried away, another took away his sword, and the third held the reins of Jaime's horse, bringing them without a word into the main yard of Winterfell.

Like any castle around midday, there were many people in the yard, some smiths, some guards, some maids, some cooks, even people who apparently did nothing but talk to each other. Nobles? But he didn't recognise any of them.

At first, no one noticed their new guest but sooner than later people gazed upon him, sitting on his large horse, knowing at once who he was with his golden hair and even more golden metal hand.

"The Kingslayer," they started to mutter, and Jaime rolled his eyes while climbing off his horse; how he hated that name.

"The murderer of Ned Stark."

That was only indirectly true, he commented in his mind.

"He was part in the Red Wedding!"

No, not really, his father had panned it all; he only had been told of this scheme when it had been too late.

"The lover of his sister."

Well…

Gradually the whispers grew louder and angrier until some people started to shout at him. They were always the same accusations, the same he had to endure for years, and the opinion of the common people had never mattered to him. But when these common people came nearer to him, threatening him with their death-bringing faces, shouting their hatred at him, and even started to throw stones and horse shit at him, it became more important to him. He ducked behind his horse, the guards, his shield, anything to get safe, remembering too many people who had died in angry mobs…

"What's all this about?!" someone suddenly shouted louder above the irate voices of the people.

Jaime recognised the voice before he saw its owner and sighed in relief.

"Let me through!" Brienne commanded and opened a way through the crowd until she stood in front of him. At first, she could only stare at him and it was obvious that she was irritated to find him here, but then her eyes warmed and she smiled a tiny smile, combined with a tiny nod of her head – to let him know that she welcomed him but also not to anger the people around them.

He found it astoundingly good to see her again.

"He is here to assassinate Queen Daenerys," someone shouted, and the rest agreed loudly.

Jaime snored. "Yes, exactly," he replied sarcastically. "That's why I've announced myself at the gates. Oh no, I've been caught."

"Who has been caught?" another voice flew over the yard, softer yet more authoritative than Brienne's.

When everyone bowed or curtsied, Jaime could see the blond, almost white hair of Daenerys Targaryen, and besides her the Stark bastard, and his own brother, who walked quickly to stay at their sides. Now he could breathe even more relaxed; Tyrion would surely speak on his behalf, no matter what.

Only when the queen had almost reached him, he remembered his manners and bowed, not as low as the rest of them but still low enough to show his trustworthy inclinations.

"Ser Jaime," Daenerys greeted him politely but coldly. "What do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" She looked around him and to the gates. "Are you alone?" she added confused.

He nodded. "I am here to deliver a message from the Queen although she probably doesn't want me to. Well," he added at the annoyed look of the Mother of Dragons, "the other Queen I should say."

"And what might that be?" Daenerys answered in her typical arrogant way.

Jaime inched closer to her and whispered, so only she, Tyrion, Jon, and Brienne were able to hear him. "My sister has no intention on helping you fight against the White Walkers."

He marvelled the different reactions this statement caused: Jon looked confused (but then he always wore a slight confusion on his face), Brienne simply nodded as if she had expected something like this, his brother swore into his beard, and the queen narrowed her eyes and stared steadfastly back at him.

"But she gave me her word," she argued. "A deal is a deal."

"Well," Jaime shrugged, "as my brother surely will tell you, our sister has never been the most honourable woman. She wants you to fight the Others, while she will fight against whoever's left of you."

Daenerys continued to stare at him a moment longer before she announced in a firm voice: "I don't believe you."

"Why would I lie?"

"For some vile reason, no doubt."

Jaime thought of a convincing argument, but he had no proof. Before he could come up with something, however, someone else spoke for him.

"Your Grace," Brienne remarked, "I have known Ser Jaime for quite some time. I know when he is lying and when he is telling the truth. Just now he spoke the truth. I can vouch for him."

Jaime smiled at her gratefully, when the next person this time from farther back spoke.

"Your Grace." This time it was Podrick, Tyrion's former squire and then Brienne's. Good to know he was still alive. With a timid voice he stuttered: "Brienne is a reliable judge of character. I can vouch for her."

Daenerys turned around but before she could reply anything, her Hand quickly added:

"And I, of course, vouch for Podrick. Besides, look at my brother. He is half starved, half frozen to death, and obviously alone and without any help. What strange plan would this be to almost die to harm you? It seems to me that it was his sole wish to warn us." He gave his brother a quick smile before schooling his friendly features again – he was still the enemy.

Daenerys looked around her, into the faces of the people who were advising her, lastly on Tyrion's, and finally sighed. "Well, Kingslayer," she turned to Jaime. "It seems you have more friends here than I thought."

"More than I thought, as well," he quickly muttered.

"And, of course, I listen to my Hand."

"Your Grace," the bastard, the King in the North as he was called lately, leaned to his queen and whispered: "This is the man who is responsible for Ned Stark's death. We should put a sword through him and be done with it."

"Without a trial?" the young queen replied, her eyebrows lifted highly.

"Ned also had no trial," Jon insisted through gritted teeth.

Her face softened before she spoke: "But we try to be better than the Lannisters, are we not?" Without waiting for the young wolf's counter, she announced loudly: "Bring the Kingslayer into a cell until we have decided what to do with him."

"I'll do it, your Grace," Brienne stepped in and took Jaime's arm.

He looked at her with fright, but she didn't seem angry with him and her hold on his arm wasn't painful. His gaze returned to the white-haired woman. "Queen Daenerys," he stated before he could be taken away. "I want you to know that I am also here to help you fight against the Army of the Dead. I have experience and bring valuable information from the capital with me."

"Why would you want to work against your sister?" the Mother of Dragons asked, her face a mask that betrayed none of her emotions.

"Because, although they call me 'man without honour' I am keeping my promises." He nodded to Brienne, and she guided him with gentle force through the crowd, that started to yell again, and into the interior of Winterfell.

As soon as they were inside and down another corridor, the loud voices of the crowd faded away, and an uncomfortable silence spread between Jaime and his once again captor. He realised that he didn't mind this as long as it was Brienne. Maybe he was used to it already.

They had lived through so many misfortunes, tortures, and abhorrent happenings together, but still, they had rarely spoken deeply with each other – except for the one time where he had told her about the moment, he had become the Kingslayer. The only other persons he had ever told this story were his siblings. Not even his father, for he hadn't cared to know the truth as long as Jaime stayed in an advantageous position.

He thought about what he could say, but to his surprise (and immense relief) Brienne spoke first.

"I've never thanked you for letting me leave at Riverrun."

Jaime wasn't sure why he did it, it was not what would have been expected of him, especially in times of war, but the thought of killing Brienne or at least putting her into a position where she would be killed in combat, had been unbearable for him. "Well," he replied in a light tone. "Otherwise I would not have seen you again in the Dragonpit in King's Landing." He had been disappointed that he had had no opportunity to speak with her then, to make sure she was well, they were some kind of friends after all. But it had also made things easier for him. What could he have said? How would Cersei have seen it? How Daenerys? They were torn between their queens and they knew it. The easiest way would be to ignore each other completely.

Brienne cleared her throat. "Well, yes, thank you."

"Your welcome," he replied quietly.

They drifted back into the awkward silence until they reached the cells. It was dark, humid, and cold – a perfect prison, of course – but in his condition, he needed a hot bath and a warm meal.

Brienne opened the iron door and pushed him gently inside. She seemingly wanted to say something, she opened and closed her mouth several times, but kept silent in the end. Maybe she was sorry for him? Or hoped he wouldn't stay here too long? That was what he was wishing for at least.

She closed the door and turned the key which she put into her pocket.

_My freedom lies in her hands_, he suddenly thought but wasn't terrified by this idea. Besides, this wasn't the first time he was held captive by her. Again, not her own captive but once more her lady's.

"The sword suits you," he blurted when she wanted to leave. He didn't like to be left alone – he had been alone for the past days.

"It served me well," she smiled and patted the golden lion on the handle.

"_Oathkeeper_," he chuckled slightly. "You've kept your oath."

She looked him in the eyes, her large blue eyes glimmered even in the faint glow of the torchlights like sapphires. "And you kept yours," she told him proudly.

"It's a good name."

She grinned a bit.

"Well, I guess, everything's better than '_Widow's Wale'_," Jaime added humorously and to his great surprise, Brienne laughed. A real, honest, wonderful laugh. It was one of the rare times he had heard her laugh, and it probably was the first time for her to laugh freely in a long time. Soon he laughed along with her, and they shared this special moment for a while before they slowly sobered again.

They suddenly remembered where they were and under which circumstances they had met again, and their laugh died completely until only seriousness and graveness were left.

"Again, thank you, for not revealing me," Brienne stated.

"You always do irrational things for the people you care for," he replied quietly. It was meant as a friend-ly statement, for he did care for her, but when he saw the confusion – and maybe hope? – in her eyes, he realised how easy it was to misunderstand his words. Yes, he cared for her, but not like this. And he didn't want to raise false hopes. "No, I mean, um-" He stocked, not knowing how to tell her without hurting her feelings.

Brienne stopped him with a lifted hand. "I know," she simply announced.

He lifted an eyebrow in scepticism. How could she know his inner turmoil right now? The thoughts that had been tormenting him for months, maybe years, but especially after his last conversation with Olenna Tyrell.

She probably had seen his questioning gaze, so she continued quietly: "I know about your complicated relationship with your sister." As he made an unbelievable face, she spat: "I'm neither blind nor deaf. And though I cannot say that I understand it, or want to understand it, I can accept it. The human being can be a master of everything – except for their own heart."

Jaime didn't how to react at first until he reached through the bars with his left hand until he could touch Brienne's shoulder. He squeezed it once, took his arm back, and whispered: "Thank you." He knew that with her his secret would be safe – although he wondered how much of a secret it was at the present time – and that furthermore, and this was even more important to him, she wouldn't try to talk about it with him. He didn't want more doubt sown into his heart, he wanted to remember the lovely long-haired Cersei from his childhood and not be reminded of the bitter shell she was nowadays.

Brienne gulped. "I have to go back now and find out what they are deciding."

He merely nodded, his head hung low. Suddenly he felt her hand on his, which had clutched the iron bars of his cell. Surprised he looked up at her and her face showed him a kindness and warmth, he wasn't used to anymore.

"I am glad you've decided to join us. I believe that was the right decision." She smiled quickly. "And I hope you will soon be accommodated to a better room."

What she didn't say but what they both thought was also the possibility that he would be executed by Jon Snow or killed by another Northman. If he could change anything in his past it would have been attacking Ned Stark on the streets of King's Landing. Much horror had followed this incident, and it would definitely make his life easier now.

Brienne squeezed his hand shortly, before leaving him abruptly and in the coldness of her absence.


	25. Tyrion, Trustworthiness

Chapter 25 – Tyrion – Trustworthiness

The moment Jaime had left the yard, the voices of the crowd started to grow louder and fiercer again.

"He has to die!" some of them suggested and many others agreed.

Tyrion peered at Daenerys. "My Queen, you should mitigate the people and further, not make the decision here in the courtyard."

She nodded slowly, thinking. "Yes, you're right." Louder she announced, and the crowd fell silent after the first few words: "Do not worry, proud people of Winterfell. I will hold a special council and decide what is just for the Kingslayer." She looked at her advisers when she listed them: "Tyrion, Ser Jorah, Missandei, Varys, and Jon, of course, please follow me into the Council Chamber."

Suddenly the silence of the courtyard changed, and it seemed hostile and cold all at once.

Tyrion looked around him in surprise and what he saw, frightened him to a certain extent. Queen Daenerys had conquered many places, whole cities had fallen under her strength and kindness – but the North was different. It had always been more different than the rest of the seven kingdoms of Westeros. Here the people had only accepted the Starks as their leaders for centuries. It would take decades to convince them that Daenerys was not only the right Queen but also the best of all people.

To their luck Jon Snow acted quickly, having apparently understood in a moment's notice what made the North people so tense.

"And of course, I will join this council with my own advisers. Sansa, Arya, Bran, Sam, and Ser Davos, please follow us, as well."

The relief of the crowd was almost audible, and the tension gone in a second.

Tyrion sighed his own relief and praised the sudden ability of diplomacy of the King in the North.

Gallantly, Jon then gestured Daenerys to step towards the main building and quickly the counselling party made their way through the crowd, some corridors, the Great Hall, and finally into the Council Chamber.

The moment the door closed behind them, Jon Snow's rage started.

"Are you mad?" he exclaimed at Daenerys accusingly.

"Why?" she replied innocently (and Tyrion believed her although he had seen her mistake). "What have I done?"

"You can't just evoke a council meeting in Winterfell and make decisions on your own. I've told you that the North will not accept you for quite some time, so better stay behind me, the true ruler of the North."

That apparently woke the dragon; Tyrion could see it in her defiant eyes. "But I am their rightful Queen, they have to understand this sooner or later! You bent the knee to me."

"Something most of them have not forgiven me, yet," Jon countered. "And if you continue to provoke them -"

"Provoke?!"

"-they will sooner or later rebel against you, and that is something we cannot allow while the real threat lies beyond the Wall!"

Before Daenerys could make her reply, Tyrion decided to step in. Gently he put a hand on her arm and stated calmly but firmly: "He's right. The North is special, and we should delay this treacherous behaviour after the war against the dead." _Maybe most of us will die_, he thought. _No need to make the final decisions now…_

Daenerys stared at him, then she stared at Jon. "Alright," she admitted annoyed in the end. "But as I told you before: there will never be any questioning of my authority in public!"

They all confirmed their loyalties once more and this seemed to sooth the dragon, at least for now.

"Then let's counsel together now, shall we?" Tyrion smiled in better spirits than he felt and gestured everyone to sit down around the round table. "So, what are we to do with my brother?" he began when everyone was seated and apparently waiting for someone to start (and it seemed as if the King and the Queen were too busy sulking at each other… What had only happened between them? he wondered not for the first time).

"He has tried to kill me," Daenerys started the discussion. "Who's to say he won't try again?"

"But that was during a battle," Tyrion justified his brother's actions. "We would have done the same in his position."

"There is no way to trust him," Jon simply announced and apparently that was already his final decision.

"Ser Jorah," Daenerys addressed the old knight. "You've known the ways of the Nobles in Westeros before you came to Essos. What is your opinion of the Lannister's behaviour?"

"It's difficult to say," he replied, deeply considering. "Could be a trick, could be the truth. I don't understand Cersei."

"No one does," Tyrion mumbled.

Daenerys nodded, before speaking to the next one in her round: "Lord Varys, have your little birds told you anything about this?"

The Spider shook his head. "I'm afraid not, your Grace, but I have to admit what Jaime has said makes sense to me. Cersei breaking the deal but he standing up for it. He has changed over the years, for the better, I might say."

"Lady Sansa," the Queen continued. "You have lived with him under the same roof in King's Landing. What impression did he make on you?"

"Your Grace," Sansa responded, blushing slightly. "I have barely spoken to him. Only one time more than a few words."

"What did you talk about?"

"Well, um, he wanted to congratulate me on marrying his brother and he welcomed me into the family." She gave Tyrion a quick glance that showed her horrible memories of her time in King's Landing and everything that had to do with it.

He offered her a small smile and it seemed to calm her.

More self-composed she added: "Ser Jaime has never wronged me, and the one time we spoke he was kind to me. The rest of the time we ignored each other, so I can't really say if we should trust him or not."

"Well, he's still responsible for father's death," Arya claimed spitefully. She was truly as wild as ever, especially in her unforgiving hatred.

"Why do you keep saying that? I'd like to remember that it was not my brother who ordered Ned Stark to die, but my nephew," Tyrion felt the urge to defend his brother. He had done many mistakes, loving Cersei probably the worst of all, but he was still the only one in his family who didn't hate the Imp.

"Yes, Joffrey spoke the sentence," Arya conveyed her hatred to him now, "but it was because of your brother's attack that our father was wounded and then put into jail."

"You seem to have forgotten that when Ned Stark recovered from his injuries he was still a free man," Tyrion replied, trying to stay calm.

"But Jaime killed Winterfell men. Jory, Heward, and Wyl," Arya listed the fallen. "The only reason I didn't kill him at first side is because my mother had enough trust in him to set him free. If it hadn't been for him, Father could have fled the Capital sooner. Along with Sansa and myself!"

"But-"

"He would have survived!" Arya interrupted him passionately, but Tyrion kept speaking.

"It was his move against the King that had put Ned Stark into prison. My brother had only attacked him in the first place because Lady Catelyn had abducted me."

"Because you tried to murder Bran," Ser Davos added.

"No," came the response of a cold voice that had not spoken yet.

All eyes turned on Brandon Stark.

"Tyrion has never tried to hurt me; he was the one who made me a saddle with which I could ride again." A very small smile reached his lips, and for a moment he was the lively boy again he used to be, and not this haunted shell of a person. "It was Littlefinger's assassin who tried to murder me in my sleep after Jaime Lannister had shoved me out of the window in the tower," he declared firmly, "because I had seen him together with his sister."

There was a moment of silent shock, and Tyrion's face reddened in shame, luckily hidden under his beard. He knew his siblings could be merciless but trying to kill a seven-year-old to hide their secret a few years longer…?

"Definitely, a man without honour, the Kingslayer," Ser Davos muttered.

"You know he hates this name," Bran told them quietly. "He saved the city when he murdered the King. The Mad King wanted to burn the whole city, even the Red Keep with all its citizens, and furthermore had ordered Jaime to bring him Tywin Lannister's head. So instead of murdering his own father and destroying King's Landing, he killed the King."

They stared at the boy in shock.

"Why does no one know this?" Jon finally whispered, apparently believing every word his brother spoke.

"It seems that Father never asked for an explanation when he found Jaime and the dead King, blood still dripping from the King's Guard's sword."

Jon made an ashamed face. "Now I can understand Jaime's actions better," he then murmured.

Tyrion frowned at the King of the North. Suddenly, he pitied his brother? How could that be? But even his sisters – even the fierce Arya! – looked down at their hands rather than protesting. Something was definitely off here.

And his Queen had the same idea: "Why are you all believing this story? Brandon, where is your proof?"

"Um, your Grace," the timid voice of Sam Tarly spoke up for the first time. "Bran is the Three-Eyed Raven."

"The what?"

It took the Starks and Sam a while to explain to the others the concept of what being the Three-Eyed Raven meant, and only after many questions especially from Ser Jorah, Varys, and Tyrion himself, did they finally begin to believe that the boy could truly see the past, present, and future. A quite startling idea to be sure.

Had the boy seen how he had killed Shae? Tyrion started to fear. How he had killed his father? The many times he had visited a brothel? Sansa's and his wedding feast? There were many scenes in his life that he wished no one to know, especially not Brandon Stark of Winterfell. And even if the boy had not seen all of this, yet, the day could still come where he might… A truly startling idea.

Apparently, the rest of the room had similar thoughts, all with horror on their faces of terrible scenes of their past, for Bran told them soothingly, that he would never just tell anybody what he sees. "Only, if the truth matters, I will speak up. Like in this case, where I have seen the moment the Mad King died."

"I still don't believe this," Daenerys suddenly exclaimed in frustration. A not very prudent move, seeing the reaction of Jon Snow, Tyrion thought.

"What is there not to believe?" he questioned her incredulously. "If Bran says that's what happened I believe him no matter what."

The tension from the beginning of their little conference was there again.

Angrily, the Dragonqueen stood up from her chair and glared at the Stark bastard. "Just because he's your brother, doesn't mean you have to believe him everything!"

"Khaleesi," Jorah tried to calm her, touching her arm gently, but she shook him off.

Jon also stood up, his chair falling on the stone floor with a loud chunk. "As long as we are in Winterfell, I'm in command. This is my castle, so to speak. And so it doesn't matter what you believe or don't, as long as I do!"

"I am still the rightful Queen!" Daenerys spoke slowly through gritted teeth.

"Well, not exac-" Jon began before stopping himself mid-sentence and turning pale, while Sam hissed a warning.

Tyrion frowned. What was going on here? It was certain, that the King in the North was hiding something – but what? He needed to speak to the boy alone – soon.

The tension stayed for a moment longer in the room, everyone exchanging nervous glances and looking between Daenerys and Jon, before the latter sat down again, giving up on their controversy.

Another moment later, the Mother of Dragons sighed to calm herself and sat down, as well.

"Right," Tyrion slowly spoke. "Let's just move on. Anybody interested in my opinion what to do with the Kingslayer?" He looked around questioning the other consultants but met only indifferent stares. He just wanted to start, when he was interrupted by his Queen.

"No, we're not interested in your opinion," she snapped annoyed.

"And why is that?" he wanted to know a bit hurt. He was the Hand of the Queen, was he not?

"Because you're biased," Arya spat at him. There was her fierceness again.

"He's your brother," Ser Davos added. "And we all know how we try to protect the people we love."

Even his lovely Sansa only smiled at him sadly. "They're right," she agreed in a quiet voice.

"Alright," Tyrion retorted in defeat, falling back on his chair and crossing his arms. "Shall I get some vine then for everyone?"

"Tyrion," Daenerys told him in a soothing voice. "Of course, I want you to stay and, of course, I want your advice. But Jaime is your brother who has done you many favours. This makes you automatically biased even if you don't want to be."

He sighed and nodded in acknowledgement of her words. "Fine. Then what do we do?"

"I could fly to King's Landing," Bran then offered matter-of-factly. "If Ser Jaime says the truth, the troops should still be stationed in King's Landing and I won't see any preparations to go north."

"What do you mean by 'flying to King's Landing?'" Daenerys asked warily. "I hope you don't mean on my dragons."

For a moment Bran stared at the white-haired girl before he started to laugh.

The Queen looked irritated at Jon, who was smiling himself.

"Bran is also a warg," Jon explained. "He can get into the mind of animals and look through their eyes."

Daenerys looked at the crippled boy in awe. "Even into a magical creature like a dragon?"

"I have not tried this, yet," the youngest Stark replied, thinking. "But since I can get into a direwolf and they are magical creatures, why not also a dragon?" He seemed to see something before his inner eye, before whispering: "It must be wonderful to fly this high and burn your enemies to the ground."

"That sounds like a decent plan to me," Tyrion quickly announced before the situation got out of hand again. "Bran will look for us what is going on in King's Landing and till then, my brother will be further guarded, but maybe in a better room. If we afterwards still can't trust him, we ignore him, and if we do, we should listen to what he has to say. My sister probably has told him everything."

Everyone looked at each other and it seemed that no one was opposed to this plan, albeit Arya still looked as if she wanted to kill Jaime any second.

"I'd further like to add that I truly think that he is telling the truth," Tyrion insisted and quickly lifted his hands in a defeated manner, before continuing: "I know, I know, he's my brother. But honestly, he came alone – not even Bronn accompanied him and he would have for the right sum – and almost died on the journey. Sounds like a stupid plan to me, especially if my sister is supposed to have concocted it…"

He saw Daenerys and Jon exchange a certain glance before the latter announced. "Bran flies to King's Landing and we wait for his report to discuss this matter further. Until then Jaime stays in his prison cell."

And with these words, the meeting was suddenly over, and the counsellors followed their leaders out of the room.

Only Tyrion stayed, trying to think of a prudent way to save his brother just as he had saved him before. But he knew that he would not be able to just free him of his prison cell; the northern threat was too important as if Tyrion could risk his position as Hand of the Queen. Besides, where would his brother go if King's Landing, Casterly Rock, and Winterfell were out of bounds for him? He pondered for a while but with no struck of genius until he left it for now. _At least I can bring him some blankets and something to eat_, he told himself trying to feel better about the whole situation but failing miserably…


	26. Cersei, Loneliness

Chapter 26 – Cersei – Loneliness

Despite the terrible stank that arose from the Mountain's body, Cersei didn't leave his side, didn't dare to leave his side for not even one moment. Anxiously, she waited for a sign that would show her that her protector was getting better, but from day to day the evidence of his decay only grew. The problem was that he was slowly falling to pieces. All had started a few days ago when he had suddenly lost a finger and then collapsed; there had been no blood, only rotten flesh beneath the open wound. Quickly they had brought him to Qyburn's laboratory where the ex-maester had confirmed that something like this could happen but that he would do everything in his power to save his experiment from dying again.

Since then Cersei hadn't left the laboratory, had even slept on one of the uncomfortable cots, while Qyburn brought her food and the servants emptied her chamber pot. She knew it was some kind of prison but she embraced it in that moment, for it meant safety for her and her unborn child. If the Mountain were to die, she had no one left who would guard her. With Euron in Braavos and Jaime gone, as well, who was left that would swing a sword at her enemies? She knew she was the most hated Queen that had ever lived but she had had no other choice. Life had made her like this and now the rest of the world had to suffer for it. It was unfair, she was aware of that, but so was life, and she simply didn't care anymore. Besides, only if she remained the most powerful person on the continent would her child be safe.

Every day Qyburn, her only friend left in the Capital, maybe the whole world, had stroked herbal ointments with probably some magical substances over the dissolving limbs of the Mountain but to no avail, yet. Her Hand had gone that morning into town to buy some special ingredients that he believed could work in their favour, so Cersei was left alone with the Mountain's raspy breaths.

Bored of simply sitting on a chair, she stood up and walked around the dark room, inspecting the curious tools and ingredients, while stroking over her slightly swollen belly. There were rats and frogs, spies and flies, different kind of flowers and herbs, but also something that looked like a human heart.

She wished that Jaime was with her. She wished that he would support her through her pregnancy and stay with her when she delivered like he had the previous three times. But he had abandoned her, had walked away from her and although she had sworn that no one would walk away from her without consequences, she had not been able to give the order to have him killed. It would have destroyed the little rest of hope and love that was left of her.

But she missed him day and night and thought every waking minute about him and dreamed of him when she slept. She had an inclination to name the child, if it was a boy, after him but she knew she had to wait how much power she had in a few months before she would be able to do such a bold move.

Suddenly it was silent. The loud breaths of the Mountain had stopped.

Cersei whirled around and went to his side. His chest wasn't rising and when she put her ear above his mouth, she was sure that he wasn't breathing anymore. She even took his hand – another finger fell on the floor without a single drop of blood – to feel his pulse but there was nothing for her to feel.

It was to her luck that her Hand returned in that moment.

"Qyburn!" she called him and tried not to panic. "He's not breathing anymore!"

The ex-maester put his purchases on a table and hurried over to his best experiment, yet. He examined the body for a moment before he sighed in defeat and confirmed the Queen's worst fears. "Yes, it's over now."

"Do something!" Cersei demanded forcefully, while pointing towards the strange instruments around her.

"I'm afraid, I can't do that," he simply told her as if he would explain something to a child.

"Anything!" she shouted threatening. "Or I will hang you!"

A smirk grazed his lips when he merely shrugged his shoulders. "Well, not even a queen can get everything she wants."

That was the last stroke. She stepped towards him and ripped the golden hand symbol off his chest, tearing the fabric of his tunic apart. "Get out of here! You are worth nothing anymore! Leave!" She tried to contain her voice but failed so the walls were giving her back a small echo of her shrieking.

Qyburn apparently didn't need to hear her words twice, for he bowed mockingly, saying "Your Grace" one last time, and hurriedly left his own laboratory without even taking anything with him.

Cersei threw the golden pin away from her, shattering some glass jar.

Suddenly a servant stormed through the still open door into the chamber. "Your Grace, important news from Braavos."

"What is it?" she wanted to know fiercely.

The way the boy gulped in fear already told her everything. "I'm afraid, Euron has been defeated by his niece Yara. She has taken over the fleet and crew and is sailing towards King's Landing in this very moment. She will be here in a few days."

Shocked she could only nod a few times at first before she quickly ordered the boy to leave her alone.

The servant left quickly, closing the door behind him and bathed her in the shady darkness of Qyburn's laboratory.

_Leave me alone._

Slowly the truth began to sink in: she was alone, she was without protection, and King's Landing would be under attack soon. But she would die even sooner since there were many in the Capital who despised her, who never accepted her as their Queen, who wanted her dead. No friends left, no one who would fight for her – she was absolutely alone and she would die.

Her breathing became heavier and her eyes blurred with tears, while panic rose in her and almost choked her. In all of her sudden rage and hurt, she started to have a violent outburst. She threw objects around the room, even her jug of wine, leaving red traces on the walls like blood; she screamed and shouted no words in particular like a wounded animal; she even beat the Mountain's chest several times, thereby breaking his already fragile rips.

Abruptly she felt a stabbing pain in her belly and when she looked down, she saw blood on the floor. She was knowledgeable enough to know what that meant: she was losing her baby. Her last joy, her last hope in this bitter, cruel world, her last love in her cold, hating heart.

"No," she whimpered and fell on her knees. "Please, no." But it was no use, the blood, the unborn life, was slowly dripping out of her body and onto the cold, dirty stone floor. Her whimpers turned into sobs and her sobs into cries of agony and pain.

And suddenly she realised what a fool she had been for dreaming of this child, for hoping for some kind of happiness in her miserable life. The witch had told her: _You will have three children_. Three, not four. This babe was never meant to be born. She had been such a fool.

She looked around and finally found the objection of her desire. On her knees, still one hand on her hurting belly, she crept to the table and took the knife into her hand. It was a good, sharp knife, the blade long enough and shining enough to see her own torrent appearance. She held it at arm's length, watching it shake in her hands.

With a calm determined stroke, she slowly pierced the knife into her heart and pulled it out again, so that the blood could seep out. She didn't even feel the physical pain, the emotional pain was too much to notice anything else. She lay down on the floor to die, the knife still in her hand, and cried silently.

_Stop it_, she pleaded in her mind. Maybe she was praying. _Please, let it all stop. I don't want to be anymore. I don't want to feel anymore. I prefer the blissful nothingness._

And for once in her life, the Gods answered her prayers and granted her her wish.


	27. Night King, Revenge

Chapter 27 – Night King – Revenge

The sound of screams pierced through the night and it fulfilled his whole being with satisfaction. The Army of the Dead washed over the small village like a huge wave, leaving only death and destruction on its way. And new recruits for their army, of course.

The Night King sat on his horse and watched over the scene with a grim glee. He could not feel like a human being anymore, for there was only coldness and hate in him left. But he still had enough memories from his former life to know what was motivating him to go forward. He couldn't remember anymore, what his wife and daughter had looked like, but he still knew their smiles and laughs, their warm touches and their love. This happy life with his wonderful family had been taken away from him the moment the Children of the Forest had created him, stabbing him with a shard of dragonglass, turning him into their weapon. His family had come after him, looking for him when he didn't return home. And he had killed them – his beautiful wife and his joyful daughter because the Children thought they were a threat if they left again. He had not been able to defy them, yet, and had done what they demanded – and it had split his soul in two. This had been 12,000 years ago… He had felt glorious when he finally had been able to destroy the Children of the Forest once and for all.

Over the years, he had improved his abilities to see the world, not just the North, but all of Westeros and even Essos; like the Three-Eyed Raven or a Warg. He wasn't sure how it worked but it didn't matter – something magical, probably – he now knew who his strongest opponent was, and where he could find this so-called King in the North. Whoever this man truly was, it did not matter. He was the Night King and finally had the power to destroy the whole world – and he wanted it desperately, not only as his personal revenge for the injustice that had befallen him but also for himself (he even had blocked the boy that had become the new Three-Eyed Raven from seeing anything north of Winterfell). If he didn't pursue this, there would be no purpose in life left for him.

The dragon he had killed and then resurrected flew over his head, screaming in blood lust like all the other subjects of his army, and blew his blue flames into the black night, illuminating everything in a mysterious light. It was to their advantage to have a dragon – otherwise, it would have taken longer to overcome the Wall. It made him feel powerful to be able to ride such an ancient magical beast, even more powerful than his ability to resurrect ten thousand people at once, making them his non-deliberate and therefore loyal subjects.

They would continue south, following the winter, because he knew that the most people lived in King's Landing. And if they had the city's millions of people, the army could finally spread to conquer the rest of Westeros making it once and for all the continent of the White Walkers. The first time, 8,000 years ago, he had been defeated, almost destroyed but he was determined that this time the Long Night would end in their favour, and the wights would have their reward for all they had done for the White Walkers, though unconsciously, of course.

And then? He didn't like to think about what would happen if there was no living soul left to destroy. He feared the answer was nothingness, and he feared nothing more than doing nothing…


	28. Tyrion, Ideas

Chapter 28 – Tyrion – Ideas

Tyrion yawned as he made his way to his room. He had stayed up late – it had to be after midnight now – to figure out the many problems that the fight against the Dead brought with it (along with some strategies to save his brother). He knew they didn't have much time left – and that he would be able to sleep as long as he wanted after the Living had won…

He just wanted to check some strategic idea he had before he went to bed and therefore visited Winterfell's library. It was sad to see how much it had been decimated since the last time he had been there. A few fires and neglection had almost destroyed all the books and only a small percentage of what it once held, had been restored.

The first thing he noticed when he entered the library was the light of a few candles that lit the small room. That meant that either the Maester had forgotten to extinguish them on his way out – quite unlikely – or there was someone else still up and in the library. But who? To his knowledge, he was the only frequent visitor, especially at this time of night. Even Samwell Tarly left it at night to be with his family.

Suddenly he heard a loud laugh and turned towards the sound. There at the small table by the window sat a woman, reading in a heavy toom and chuckling at its contents.

"This is utterly ridiculous," the woman murmured, and he recognised her.

In order not to startle her, he gently coughed but she turned around alarmed anyway. "Please forgive me, Lady Talla. I did not mean to frighten you."

She smiled at him. "Nothing to forgive. You don't frighten me. I just assumed I was alone."

He nodded and glanced at the book in front of her. "So, care to tell me what is so 'utterly ridiculous'?" he started to make light conversation.

Talla rolled her eyes and glared at the book. "This text is. Here, look," she told him and he went nearer and sat down on the chair next to her. "This is an interpretation of the 'Rains of Castamere', but it is completely out of proportion. So this Maester…, um…" She took the book up from the table so that she was able to read it's cover. "So, this Maester Cressen is under the impression that 'rain', like the rain that falls from the sky, is written wrongly and has been passed on wrongly ever since that song had been written."

Tyrion frowned at this stupidity. "But I thought that –," he started but was interrupted by an eager Talla.

"Exactly! It's a wordplay between the words 'rain' (the drops from the sky), 'reign' (the power you have), and 'Reyne' (the house, of course). And I mean the line 'But now the rains weep o'er his hall" is obvious, isn't it?" She shook her head in incredulity of this stupidity. "It's like Sam said, the Citadel is full of old men that have forgotten the world around them."

Tyrion looked at her in surprise. Who would have thought that this woman would spend the night in a library, reading about his House's most famous song. "You are absolutely right," he told her. "But why are you reading this account in the first place?"

"I couldn't sleep," Talla admitted and shrugged casually. "And I've always liked the song."

"You do?" he asked astounded. "You know that it was my father who destroyed the whole House of Reyne?"

She nodded. "But… well," she interrupted herself, blushing, obviously not telling something. But she quickly continued so Tyrion ignored it – everyone had something they didn't want to share with a stranger. "And it reminds me of my family."

"How so?" He started to be interested in this strange woman. She had remembered him after more than a decade of no contact because he had saved her as a little girl, but well, he was the Imp, so of course, people remembered him. But the way she looked at him, full of admiration and warmth, that was something he didn't understand. And maybe if he found out more about her and the way she thought, he would be able to solve this puzzle.

"Well, it's also about the destruction of a House by another House," she whispered sadly.

"Yes, well," Tyrion snorted bitterly. "Another House destroyed by the Lannisters." Reynes, Tyrells, Tarlys, and many more.

"Oh no!" Talla insisted at once, shocked at his words. "I know it wasn't you. You told me you tried to prevent the deaths of my father and brother, and I believe you." She looked at him heart-stricken before her face turned sour. "No, it was the Targaryens that destroyed the Tarlys for their loyalty."

Tyrion swallowed uncomfortably. "As Hand of the Queen, I must warn you never to try to hurt the Queen again. She is a powerful woman and she means what she says."

Talla sighed defeated. "I know," she sulked. "But I still think it's unfair."

Tyrion didn't know a decent reply, so he remained silent.

"You look tired," Talla suddenly remarked and watched him concerned.

"It's the middle of the night," he chuckled.

"But you also look tired during the day," she persisted. "What's wrong?"

He sighed. "There's just a lot to think about in our current situation. And whenever I have the feeling, I just solved a problem, a new, bigger one rises on the horizon."

She still looked worriedly at him. "Tell me about them. I might have an idea," she offered and smiled tentatively at him.

"Well," he started and at first wanted to decline – that it wasn't proper to talk with a lady about war strategies and problems – but then he was intrigued to find out her intellect, so why not? He took a deep breath before he listed all of their major problems: "So, first of all, there aren't enough provisions for the current population of Winterfell. Then, what should we do with those who can't fight – the old, the children, some women? I don't wish for them to die if we fail. Further, when we encounter the Army of the Dead, what if another dragon will become part of said army? Or worse, what if they make it through the Wall and flood the North? And then there are hundred thousands of them – how are we supposed to kill them all? And last but not least, there are too many minor problems and petitions by the Northerners, so we can't really focus on our main goal: the surviving of the Long Night." He breathed quicker, for he had spoken the long list almost without any pause. _It sounds awful, when you say it out loud_, he realised miserably but then he watched Talla and waited tensely for her reaction. If she would say, that she had no idea at all, he knew her intellect at best, if she had some ideas, though, he would consider them and then decide her intelligence. He hoped for the latter.

Talla pondered about these problems for a while, and her thinking process was visible on her face before she nodded once and started quickly with her solutions: "Alright, the old, young, ill, and women who can't fight can be evacuated south, near a major harbour. Sam has told me that the White Walkers can't swim, so if everything goes wrong, they can sail over to Essos and start a new life there. Besides, with all these people gone, the provisions for Winterfell will last longer.

"Now for the dragons. Why don't we make them an armour? I guess it would be enough to protect their bellies and necks, so if there is an attack with one of these ice spears, they can intercept them with their undersides. We could use steel; if we don't have enough, we have to look around at the many other castles in the North or we could melt old steel wares that we don't need right now. Furthermore, I suggest building a saddle as well, thus making it easier for the person who flies them to hold on and the dragons can fly more agile and surprisingly. And the human being would be able to hold a shield for protection, too.

"Next, if the Army of the Dead makes it through the Wall, why don't we capture them here." She stood up, took a large parchment roll out of one of the shelves and spread it on the table. It was a map of Westeros. "Here," she announced and pointed with her finger on the peninsula where the Karstarks lived. "The White Walkers were in Hardhome, so they would have to pass Eastwatch – not very likely, but let's say they do – they will probably go south, maybe they want to reach King's Landing (it has the most inhabitants after all), so they will have to go past the Dreadfort and come along this peninsula. Why don't we push them into there? They can't escape over the sea, so it will be easy to target them from all sides, even from the seaside, if the Greyjoys are actually willing to help. They are thoughtless monsters, they will fall into our trap at once. With the dragons we can even try to divide them in the middle. But then our main goal has to be to destroy the Night King. He created most of the wights, and as we know, if you kill the creator all the created will die as well. So if we take him out quickly, ten thousands, probably more, will fall at once and the rest will be child's play.

"Um, and what was the last? Oh yeah, too many petitions. Why don't we sort the petitions before they reach Lady Sansa? Either they write down their problems a day ahead, or if they can't write, they tell someone. And then a person Sansa trusts can decide which of these petitions the Lady of Winterfell herself has to hear, or which this trusted person or several persons can handle themselves." Talla made a pause, considering. "Yes, I suppose that was all of the problems you mentioned. What do you think?" She looked at him expectantly.

Tyrion stared at her with an open mouth. He was absolutely baffled. All of her ideas were more than well thought through, and he believed they could actually work. "Incredible," he said when he came out of his stupor. "These are brilliant ideas," he told her in earnest.

Talla's face beamed at once. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely," he agreed. "Why have you never suggested something like this before?" he asked in astonishment. Here next to him sat a very intelligent woman and it seemed that no one had noticed this before!

She shrugged. "No one's ever asked for my opinion before."

He shook his head in disbelief of the stupidity of their world where the opinion of a woman oftentimes didn't matter. But if he looked at Daenerys, Sansa, and even his own sister, it was obvious that Westeros would finally learn to understand the true value of women.

"You know what," he told her joyfully, "I am hereby inviting you to our Council meeting tomorrow morning. If you're interested, of course. You can then tell your wonderful ideas to the others and we can plan how to implement them."

Talla's face lit up even more, though Tyrion hadn't guessed this was possible. "I'd love to!" she exclaimed happily. "When and where do we meet?"

And out of impulse, he suggested: "Why don't we two meet at breakfast and then we'll go to the meeting together?"

She blushed, grinning. "This sounds like courting," she chuckled.

"It does," he admitted although he wasn't sure if he had intended anything like this. Maybe he had. Talla was special, he realised this more and more with every minute he spent with her. What if she was finally the one, he could open up to. Since he had killed Shae, he hadn't been able to be with a woman, and frankly, he didn't even care about women in that way anymore. He had never before invited a girl to breakfast. Maybe he could approach Talla so easily because the circumstances were different, their beginning of a possible relationship was different – she was different from any woman he had ever known, and not only because she was a trueborn lady instead of a whore…

"Now I can sleep well," Talla sighed contently and smiled at him.

"Well then, may I escort you to your room?" Tyrion offered, trying to be the highborn lord a girl like Talla deserved.

She nodded at him, her cheeks crimson.

He stood up and took her hand in his, helping her up.

"Like the first time we met," she told him shyly.

"Yes," he smiled at her, and together they made their way out of the library (extinguishing all the candles except for one that Tyrion used to light their way with) and towards Talla's room.

"I wish you a good night, my lady," Tyrion said gallantly and bowed. "Till the morning, then."

"Good night," she replied sheepishly. "Sleep well."

"You too," he responded and smiled warmly at her. Yes, with this woman everything could be different.


	29. Daenerys, Future

Chapter 29 – Daenerys – Future

Dany awoke suddenly with a startling pain in her belly. She hissed and hunched with agony, pressing her hands on her stomach. She looked outside the window; it was still dark. Trying to fall back asleep wouldn't work, but she had no idea what else to do. Finally, she stood up to find help. She went to the room next to hers where she knew her best female friend slept.

The corridors were well lit with torch lights, but no one was outside.

She opened the door to the neighbouring room and whispered into the dark: "Missandei?"

The former slave was a light sleeper, always in fear of her master, Dany knew, so it was no surprise to see Missandei coming to her only a moment later. "Khaleesi, what is wrong?" she asked when she found Dany crunching in pain.

"Stomach ache," she panted.

"Shall I send for Maester Wolkan?"

"Yes, please," Dany replied relieved. Aid was on its way.

Missandei helped her back to bed before she hurried out of the room. The minutes it took her to get the maester felt like an eternity for Dany. She tried to distract herself by thinking about her adventures in Essos or in the North, but not even the White Walkers had the power to let her forget the pain.

She felt like crying in relief when an old woman with a friendly face entered the room. "I'm Septa Mondra," she smiled and approached the bed, while Missandei, who had entered quickly behind her, started to light the candles in the room. Soon the warm shine of the candles illuminated everything in a soothing light. "Maester Wolkan is currently with the soldiers in the tents outside, but I am quite able with healing if I may say so myself."

"I'm very glad you're here," Dany panted, gritting her teeth.

"May I?" the septa gestured towards the bed and Dany herself.

The normally so fierce dragon rider could only nod, glad now that it was a woman who would look after her.

The septa sat down on the side of the mattress and gently tried to lift the Queen's hands. "I need you to relax a bit so I can examine your belly."

Grudgingly, Dany put her hands on the mattress on each of her sides and straightened herself a bit.

"That's alright," the septa reassured calmly and put a hand on Dany's belly, pressing softly at different points. Then she started to ask questions: what Dany had eaten the day before, if she had had these aches before, and finally if she was pregnant.

"I can't have children anymore," Dany told her sadly and heard Missandei's soft gasp.

The septa merely examined her further, before she withdrew a small blue bottle from the bag she had brought with her. "Don't worry, it's only a normal stomach ache," she then soothed. "You probably ate something you aren't accustomed to; that tends to happen to foreigners with our northern food." She chuckled lightly and gave Daenerys the bottle. "Drink this and you will get better soon enough."

It probably was the pain's fault that Dany took the bottle and drank at once without even considering the possibility of poison. It would not have been the first time someone tried to kill her – or maybe it was the friendly, innocent face of the septa.

"Tell me, child," Septa Mondra went on, as she took the empty bottle back. "Do you still have your Red Flower?"

Dany frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Do you still bleed monthly?"

"Oh." She could feel her cheeks colouring. "Um, yes."

"Then I see no reason why you should not be able to have children," the septa smiled.

Dany gazed at her in surprise. "You mean… but the witch said…"

"A witch, you say? You know that especially witches are known for their ability to lie with ease."

"Yes, well, of course," Dany stammered in her shock moment to grasp what this northern septa was revealing. "But… but…" _When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child._

The old woman stroked her hair gently. "Everything is alright," she told her calmly. "Now sleep and in the morning light you will be happy again."

Slowly Dany relaxed and the combination of wary joy and the healing potion she had drunk made her sleepy, and before long she fell asleep deeply.

She awoke a few hours later when some rare sunshine fell through her window and onto the bed. Smiling, she bathed in the warm light and felt her energy being refilled.

"You're awake," someone said and sounded glad.

When Dany looked around the room, she saw Missandei who had been sitting in a chair but was now coming towards her, with a concerned face.

"How do you feel?" the former slave asked.

Dany remembered the previous night, but the pain was gone completely. "Wonderful," she grinned. "Oh Missandei! I can't believe it! The septa said I am able to have more children."

"That is splendid news indeed," her best friend smirked. "You should probably tell Jon Snow."

The Mother of Dragons blushed. She had told Missandei about what had happened between her and the King in the North on the ship to White Harbor. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

When she dressed herself and went towards the Great Hall for breakfast, her heart pounded quickly, and she thought over and over again how she could address such a delicate topic in the best fashion since everything between her and Jon had become so complicated since the night they had spent together. And for some reason unknown, he seemed to avoid her ever since they had arrived in Winterfell. Except for this one time they had laughed together in a snowball fight, but even then he had suddenly glanced at her and his face had fallen quickly and he had excused himself and had almost run away from her. She could not understand him at all, although she tried to figure it out day and night.

In the end, the decision was taken from her, when she saw Jon leaving his room and met him on the corridor.

Missandei gave her a pointed look and then left quickly for breakfast, greeting the King in the North respectfully.

"Jon," Dany then stated determined and stepped in front of him.

"Your Grace," he nodded politely and wanted to leave already, but Dany held his arm.

"There is something important I have to tell you. Can we talk somewhere in private?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Can't this wait until later? I believe we have much to do today."

She tried to hide how much she was hurt at his rejection and instead demanded even firmer: "No, I want to discuss this right now!"

Jon sighed, then opened his door again and let her pass into his room. It was as spartan as the rest of the rooms in Winterfell but a crackling fire and a bear fur on the floor warmed it up a bit.

"What is it?" he wanted to know when he had closed the door behind him.

He hadn't offered her a chair, but Dany didn't mind. She stood in front of him and smiled broadly. "You were right," she announced with tears in her eyes. "The witch lied. I can have children."

He blinked at her in shock. "What?" he finally croaked.

"Isn't that wonderful?" Dany smiled and out of pure joy which gave her the necessary courage, she flung her arms around his neck. She had hoped that he would embrace her back, but he merely stood there tensely, so finally she loosened herself from him again and looked at him disappointed.

"Um, that's good for you," he simply mumbled, without looking into her eyes and with one hand already on the door knob behind him as if he wanted to flee at any moment.

Dany frowned. "What's wrong?" she wanted to know, slightly annoyed at his evasiveness.

"Nothing's wrong," he replied quickly but she could hear the lie.

"You've been avoiding me ever since we reached Winterfell," she started to get angry. "I'm sorry for my behaviour on the ship but I was just overwhelmed with everything."

"It's not that," he murmured but still refused any eye-contact.

"Jon," she demanded sternly. "Please, look at me."

After a moment he obliged, and she was shocked to see confusion and pain in his eyes. "I do have feelings for you," she finally admitted. "I'm not sure how strong they are or how prudent a relationship between us would be, but I want you to be by my side when I destroy the White Walkers and afterwards Cersei. I want you with me when I sit on the Iron Throne. I love-"

"Please, stop," he interrupted her strongly and went further into the room, so that he didn't have to be so near to her anymore.

She turned around in confusion and followed him, took his arms and demanded urgently: "Jon, tell me what is wrong!"

This time he didn't flee from her, instead, he sighed and as if he had no strength in his legs anymore, he fell onto the bed and sat there looking absolutely miserable. "I suppose I have to tell you sooner or later." He patted on the spot of the mattress next to him and Dany sat down with sudden anxiety at the coming.

"As you know, my brother can see what has happened in the past, anywhere in the world," he began.

She nodded although she still found the idea of the Three-Eyed Raven strange – but if there were dragons and dead winter zombies in this world, why not also a boy who was the Master of Time?

"He has found out something," Jon continued slowly, and it was obvious that it was hard for him to tell her. "Something about my heritage."

"Do you know who your mother is?" Dany asked at once. She knew how much this question had haunted him, and maybe his mother was someone evil and that was why he was ashamed to tell her.

"Yes," he whispered. He cleared his throat before announcing: "My mother was Lyanna Stark."

Dany gasped in shock. "So, Ned and his sister…?" She shouldn't be so appalled by the love between siblings, given that she had thought she would marry her brother one day, but after everything she had heard of Eddard Stark, this was so out of character that she would have never guessed. To her surprise, however, Jon laughed at her conclusion.

"No. That's what I thought at first, too," he chuckled, but then his face turned bitter again. "But the incest lies somewhere else. You see, my father was not Ned Stark but… Rhaegar Targaryen."

"But that would mean," she said at once, quickly producing a picture of the Targaryen family tree in her mind, "that you're my… _nephew_?!"

He nodded sadly, added: "My true name is Aegon Targaryen," and waited for her reaction.

There was shock, of course, and she felt a bit sick at having slept with her own nephew, but the wave of horror that washed over her was faster gone than she had expected. She breathed deeply in, before looking at him calmly and asking: "And what do we do now?"

"What do you mean 'what do we do now'?!" he countered incredulously. "I thought you would storm out of here and never speak a word with me again after I've told you."

She raised an eye-brow. "And why on earth would I do that?"

"Because it's disgusting!" he shouted in frustration, stood up and paced in front of her.

"You know," she tried to mitigate him, "there have been marriages between Targaryen siblings for centuries."

"Yes, and that made them mad," Jon replied. "Well, except for you, of course."

"So, you see, it doesn't have to end badly. And you bring another blood into the family, so chances should be good."

He stopped suddenly and looked at her stunned. "You're not actually considering being together with me, are you?!"

She stood up and went to him. "We have met as strangers, not as aunt and nephew. So, yes, I agree, that this is strange, but I'm willing to simply ignore it."

"I'm not sure I can do that," he admitted quietly.

She sighed and thought of other arguments to convince him when suddenly she realised something. "You're not trying to steal the Throne from me, are you?!"

"What?" he asked astonished. "Why would I do that?"

"You're another Targaryen!" she shouted furiously as the full realisation hit her. "And since Rhaegar was my older brother, you even have the claim to the title! I can't believe this! You have the fucking claim!" It wasn't often that she swore but sometimes even she couldn't restrain her anger. She turned to him, raised a finger to his chest and hissed dangerously: "I've worked too hard to let you destroy everything! I am the true Queen, no matter what you say!"

"Calm down!" he retorted loudly and grabbed her shoulders. "I don't want that stupid Throne!"

"You don't?" she asked confused. She had thought that everyone was after the Iron Throne if they got the chance.

"Of course not!" he replied annoyed. "I've never wanted to lead anything. Not as the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch then, not as the King in the North now."

"Then why did you take these high positions in the first place?" she wanted to know angrily. She didn't believe him. All men were after power.

"Because they help me to reach my goal!" he answered in the same angry tone.

"Which is?"

"To defeat the White Walkers and survive the Long Night, of course!" He panted after his rage outburst, then he looked at her ashamed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled calmly. "It's not your fault this is such a mess." He sat down on a chair and put his face in his hands. "I don't know if I should tell anyone."

All of her fury was gone as well, and she believed him that he didn't care for the Iron Thorne. "Well," she tried to be helpful instead and sat down on another chair next to him, "then let's think about the advantages and disadvantages that telling would bring us."

He nodded and started listing. "An advantage would be, that I am no bastard anymore, but a rightful child from the Stark family. And the North adored my aunt, um, mother; not only Lyanna Mormont has been named after her."

Dany smiled at him encouragingly to go on. She still wanted to be a team with the King in the North, so she tried to be supportive.

"Then on the other hand, my father was a Targaryen, and this information could bring chaos. I'm not a trueborn Northman anymore and therefore don't deserve the title 'King in the North'. Some bannermen are already cross with me because I bent the knee to you – a Targaryen, the foreign invader. If they find out I'm one of them, too, I might lose them completely, and we need all our strength for the war against the Others."

"Then you already have your answer, don't you?" Dany comforted and took his hand. "We all want to survive the Long Night and we need everyone we can mobilise for that."

Jon stared at her hand and the thumb that caressed it gently. "I can't do this," he blurted, sounding almost panicked and stood up, leaving her hand as if it was poisonous. He went to the door, and Dany thought, he would simply leave her, but he turned around in the end. "You're right, we shouldn't tell anyone who I truly am. At least not until after the war."

She nodded in agreement. "And what about… us?" she finally dared to ask and feared his answer like not many things could frighten her.

He peered at her for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered desperately and left her in his room alone.

Daenerys thought about what she had found out in the last hour and agreed with him, though grudgingly. First, they needed to win against the White Walkers, before they could even think about their future – together or not. She sighed a long sigh, then she stood up, straightened her shoulders and left the room with determination, closing the door forcefully behind her.


	30. Talla, Courtship

Chapter 30 – Talla – Courtship

Talla lay in her bed, and Tyrion lay next to her. She liked lying next to him, for then their heads were on the same level and it seemed as if they were of the same height. She had nothing against his dwarfism, but she didn't like towering above him all the time, and he probably wouldn't like her kneeling before him constantly. Sitting next to each other was also fine, but lying was better.

He was sleeping right now, and Talla didn't want to fall asleep. Instead, she watched his peaceful face, so different from the one he was wearing during the day, and his small smile. Maybe he was dreaming of something that made him smile. Or maybe he smiled because he knew that Talla was right there next to him. She hoped for the latter but was also content with the former.

Slowly, she lifted her hand and stroked over his cheek. She liked his beard, he looked more like a man and less like a child with it, but she frowned at the scar. Not because she cared about it – of course, it was hideous, but she had never been someone to judge appearances – but because she had the feeling that it annoyed him. Which she could understand. For someone with small height, having a huge scar all over your face probably didn't increase your confidence. But Talla knew where he had gotten this scar – from the Battle of the Blackwater, and she couldn't be prouder of him for rescuing the whole city.

Gently she traced the scar with her fingers. From his cheek, over his nose, onto his forehead, into his hair, and back – she liked especially his soft, wavy hair – until he stirred suddenly and opened his eyes.

He looked at her, and she wasn't sure how he would react, but then he smiled at her, and she was the happiest person on earth.

When Talla woke up, she still had a smile plastered on her face, until she realised that the bedside next to her was empty. Just a dream, she realised and didn't know if to smile or cry. It had been a wonderful dream, maybe the best she ever had, but it had been only that, a dream, and it made her sad that it wasn't real.

_Maybe, yet_, she suddenly thought and recalled that she would have breakfast with Tyrion today. Even if he didn't intend their meeting as courting, she would make sure that it became something like this. In her mind, they fit together perfectly, she just had to make him realise this, as well.

Excited she stood up, washed herself and let herself help to get dressed in an elegant green dress but not too fancy and to make her hair by a maid.

Afterwards she quickly went to Sam's and Gilly's room. There was something she needed to ask her brother before she would be allowed to pursue any relationship, let alone one with a Lannister and the Hand of the Queen. She cringed at that thought. Why did he have to be the Hand of _that_ woman?! If Talla married Tyrion, she would find a way to get them both away from Daenerys for good!

She knocked at her brother's door, who opened a moment later.

"I'd like to ask you something." She tried to sound casual but probably failed, since she extra went to him before breakfast to ask him this…

"Hello to you as well," Sam greeted her, chuckling.

"Hey, Sam, hey Gilly, hey Little Sam," Talla quickly greeted and Gilly who sat on the bed, sewing a little coat, waved at her warmly.

"So, what is it?" Sam wanted to know, and Talla led him gently on the corridor, where luckily no one else was at that moment, so Gilly wouldn't hear them.

"When you first met Gilly and wanted to be with her, did you ever consider if this would be a prudent match, concerning she's a wildling and you're of a noble House?" she inquired at once.

Sam look at her irritated. "Um, no, I did not," he admitted sincerely. "I only knew how much I loved her and that was sufficient for me."

"Thanks," Talla grinned. "That was all. See you at breakfast." And before her brother could ask her the obvious question that was hanging in the air – "what are you up to?!" – she made her way down the corridor, waving goodbye at him, and her step had a slight jump to it out of joy and excitement at the coming breakfast and Council meeting.


	31. Tyrion, Fairy-tales

Chapter 31 – Tyrion – Fairy-tales

Tyrion was uncommonly nervous. _This is only breakfast!_ he reminded himself over and over again, but his quick mind knew that this would not just be breakfast but probably more.

He had thought quite some time about Talla over the last night and had tried to find out if she really was special enough that she kept him from sleeping, or if the last night only seemed romantic because it was night, Tyrion was tired, and they had met in a library. So naturally, he was now anxious to see her again, to find out if she could still put a spell on him in the grey routine of everyday life.

He was already seated in the Great Hall and waited for her. It wasn't full, many had already eaten and were now doing their duties.

Suddenly Talla swept into the room, looked around until she saw him, and then quickly went to him, a joyous spring in her step and a wide smile in her face.

Tyrion gulped. It was neither the night's nor the library's fault – in the grey day light she was still lovely. He couldn't understand why she was so devoted to him – despite him having rescued her many years ago. Normally, women didn't glance at him or then in distaste (unless they were paid whores) – except for Shae…

He shook his head and offered his breakfast partner a smile; he didn't want to think about Shae now. "Good morning, Lady Talla," he stood up and greeted her.

"Good morning," she responded and blushed.

He gestured towards the chair next to him and helped her get seated.

"Thank you," she replied and started to take a bun out of a basket.

Tyrion sat down as well and also broke his fast.

"Oh, by the way," Talla began their conversation casually. "I haven't told you, yet, how much I admired your actions in the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

He choked on his morning juice. "You do?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course," she grinned at him. "If it weren't for you, King's Landing would have fallen before the Tyrells rode into the city."

He blinked a few times. "How do you know?" No one else had ever recognised his bravery in the battle before.

"Well," she winked. "Of course, our soldiers told me when I asked them. You know many of them had gone with the Tyrells to King's Landing, but fortunately, they returned home a bit later. And then there were some conversations at the dinner table and some comments Father made. Not very nice ones, I'm afraid." She looked at him apologetically, but he shook his head dismissively – he would not have thought otherwise of Randall Tarly, to be honest. "Well, and I read some letters addressed to Father. In secret, of course. And so bit by bit I could make a good account of what must have really happened in King's Landing – and not the euphemisms about your father and the Tyrells saving the city and all that." She shook her head angrily. "And you must have been a wonderful Hand, although half the country now thinks otherwise."

"Whoa," Tyrion made. "I don't know what to say. I believe these were the kindest words anyone has ever spoken to me. Thank you."

"Your welcome," she smiled, before she attended her breakfast, blushing.

An awkward silence spread over them. Tyrion wondered how she could truly mean these words and had difficulties finding a new topic for talking after her declaration. So he started to talk about the weather…

"Um, do you like snow?" he asked clumsily.

Talla looked at the window where new snowflakes fell from the grey sky. "I think a snow-covered landscape is beautiful, but I don't like being soaked in it. That's too cold for me."

Agreeing, he nodded. "It's the same for me." Then he looked for something else to say and realised that they were sitting on the front end of the tables where normally the Queen and the Starks sat. "It's our luck that this table is empty now. Lady Sansa and the King in the North are always up early, Brandon eats in his room, and Daenerys is probably with her dragons at this hour. Maybe Arya will join us soon – or she sleeps in, which could also happen, who knows." He looked at his breakfast companion in good humour when he noticed her sour face. Quickly thinking over of what he had said to offend her, he slapped his forehead in his mind. He had mentioned Daenerys – not very tactful… Slowly he laid his hand on top of hers in a soothing manner.

She gazed at him surprised.

"I'm so sorry," he told her solemnly. "The moment I heard your brother saying his name, I shuddered. I am sorry I wasn't able to stop… it." He didn't want to say: 'Your father's and brother's death.'

She gave him a sad smile. "I know," she mumbled and turned her hand around.

His hand lay in hers now and it looked wonderful.

Tyrion cleared his throat and took his hand away again. Embarrassed, he ate another bite of his bread and drank a sip of his juice, so he didn't have to speak for a while. Why would he be embarrassed by a simple touch of hands? He had been with hundreds of whores – and he had never been embarrassed with them, not after the first few times. Was this only because Talla was a lady – or because she was indeed special?

To his relief, a few Unsullied entered the Great Hall at that moment. "Ah, the Unsullied have finally arrived in Winterfell," he announced to his companion. "I have wondered if they would ever come at all…"

One man of the Unsullied went straight towards him and nodded his head in greeting. He held a book in his hands which he now presented to Tyrion. "From Grey Worm," he said in broken Common Tongue.

Tyrion frowned for a moment before he saw the title of the book: _Fairy Tales of Westeros and the Far East_. His eyes widened in delight – he had already forgotten his hasty plea at the end of a letter to Grey Worm weeks ago. "Thank you very much!" he responded and took the book gently in his hands.

The Unsullied nodded and went to the other men who were already seated.

"What's that?" Talla wanted to know interested.

"This," he stated proudly, "is the greatest treasure of my childhood."

Talla looked at the worn binding and old pictures but suddenly she yelped: "I know this one! I had one copy, too. Still have it in my room, to be honest."

"Really?" Tyrion was astonished. But when he thought about it, this was _the_ fairy-tale book in Westeros, so probably every little lord or lady had one copy.

"My mother used to read it to me," Talla told him, her eyes dreamingly; obviously her childhood had been precious.

His mother never had been able to read anything to him … His father naturally never had, since 'reading fairy-tales was for women'; Cersei, of course, hated the idea of ever spending time with him, Jaime always had difficulties with reading per se, let alone aloud, and his wet nurse was afraid of 'the little monster'. So, Tyrion had asked the Maester to show him how to read and soon had read the stories to himself. He especially liked the pictures in this book, which was full of princesses, knights, and even dragons.

He opened the book somewhere in the middle and promptly stumbled upon a picture of a beautiful princess with long golden hair. There weren't many pictures of his mother Joanna, so as a child Tyrion had thought that she could have looked like this princess – with golden Lannister hair and a warm smile on her lips. She was the image of grace and cordiality. And as if this hadn't been enough, Tyrion had taken a yellow pencil and had drawn her hair longer so that it now fell onto the floor in wonderful waves.

He turned a page and found a picture of the other princess in the book, a black-haired beauty from Essos. When he had been a child, he had never paid much attention to her, but now he realised that she reminded him of Shae… He sighed inwardly and was glad when Talla started speaking again, looking over his shoulder into the book.

"I've always loved the golden-haired princess, she was so good. But I've hated the black-haired one – that one always _seemed _loveable, but I always had a hunch that she might be mean after all."

Tyrion peered at her astounded. That summed it up pretty well – without Talla having any idea of how these two women had shaped his life and thoughts.

"You drew into your book?!" she suddenly shouted and put an accusing finger on the long hair of the blonde princess.

"Well, um, yes," he admitted sheepishly, suddenly feeling guilty. What power did this woman possess over him?!

Talla shook her head in disapproval. "One should never ruin a book, yet alone such a beautiful book." Then she smiled at him warmly and her smile reminded him of the one of the fair princesses. "But now she looks like your mother, doesn't she? At least, that's how I've imagined the beautiful Joanna Lannister."

Tyrion didn't know how to respond, so he resorted to his old companion named cynicism. "Well, yes, she was. Bad, she didn't give any of it to her son. Well, her younger son, of course."

He had expected Talla to chuckle at this or blush in embarrassment because she couldn't contradict him without lying, but instead, she looked at him seriously and announced: "I wouldn't say that. Beauty is far more complex than what the eyes see. And even if one's outer beauty isn't as radiant as some other's, the inner beauty is far more important."

Tyrion blinked at her wisdom, thinking of his original beautiful sister who had become a grotesque shadow of herself. He looked at Talla with awe – and this lady had been secluded almost her entire life to the world outside? Maybe she had read as much as her brother was known to.

Then Talla snorted. "Well, look at me. I'm not the most beautiful lady, at least not in the conventional sense – I'm a bit too bulky." She smiled apologetically. "But I hope that my kindness and warmth make the world see me in a better light than just the superficial one."

"They do," Tyrion replied in earnest. "You _are _radiant, like the sun – from the inside _and_ outside."

Her cheeks grew crimson. "Thank you," she whispered shyly. Suddenly she sat up straighter and asked in a serious tone: "Tyrion, may I ask you a personal question?"

"Um, sure," he replied completely unsure. But if it was _too_ personal, he would just not answer.

She looked at him with concerned eyes and asked directly: "Why are you so sad?"

"I'm not sad," he responded at once. "I thought we were having an enjoyable breakfast."

She shook her head. "That's not what I mean. Why are you so sad in general?"

"I'm not sad," he repeated but not as sincere as before.

Talla simply rose her eye-brows in doubt.

He looked away. Why did this woman see everything? Should he tell her? But telling your breakfast date of your former lover who you had strangled because she had testified against you and had slept with your father, wasn't the best conversation… Finally, he sighed and offered a sad smile. "I'll tell you one day when this is all over," he promised – if they survived, of course. "But not now, alright?"

She nodded in agreement, but she seemed even more worried.

Tyrion saw that they had finished their breakfast. He stood up and offered her his arm. "Shall we go to the Council meeting?" he asked and tried to sound more joyfully than he felt.

"Yes," Talla grinned at him and obviously tried the same. She took his arm and together they went towards the smaller adjacent room that formed their Council chamber.

When they passed a few Unsullied, Tyrion stopped and asked into the small round: "Tell me, friends, where can I find Grey Worm? I'd like to thank him."

The Unsullied looked at him surprised and then their faces fell. They remained silent until one of them announced in a miserable voice: "Grey Worm is dead."


	32. Missandei, Fortune

Chapter 32 – Missandei – Fortune

When Missandei slowly woke up again, her head hurt, and her eyes burned. It was dark, except for a candle on her nightstand. She was confused about why she was in her bed, she didn't remember going to bed earlier.

Suddenly she realised that someone was holding her hand. She travelled with her eyes up the arm of the other person until she looked into the worried face of Daenerys Targaryen. The Queen smiled sadly at her, but when she saw tears in the white-haired girl's eyes, she remembered what happened at once.

There had been a Council meeting this morning. Originally, they had wanted to discuss some new plans, and Tyrion had invited this girl for that purpose, but they had had no time for this in the end.

When Tyrion had entered the chamber alone, without this girl, Missandei already had the feeling that something was off, but it hadn't been until she had looked into the little man's eyes, that she had known how disastrous it actually had to be.

"There has been an attack on the Unsullied in King's Landing," Tyrion had told them gravely.

She had gasped in shock and her heart had beat fast. Too afraid to ask the question that had been in her mind, she had waited tensely.

"Apparently, my sister threw a dragon skull with wildfire at our forces in the middle of the night," Tyrion had continued, and Daenerys had sat down in shock. "It seems, my sister felt superior when we left the dragon pit and wanted to make a statement of her power." He had snorted bitterly. "Many died," he had continued sadly. Then his gaze had fallen upon Missandei. "I'm sorry," he had whispered heart-stricken. "Grey Worm died, too."

At first, there had been nothing in her mind and in her heart. She had been too shocked to feel. Then slowly realisation had hit her. _He's dead_, it had screamed inside her head, over and over again. _He's dead. I will never see him again. Never tell him how much I love him. Never have a future with him_. And then her tears had streamed over her face and she had sobbed uncontrollably, hysterically crying out her pain. Someone had put his arms around her to hold her, but she hadn't noticed who it was, nor had she cared. It hadn't been Grey Worm.

Suddenly everything had gone black and she had been glad for the numb nothingness that had cloaked her in the next hours.

But now she was awake again, and the pain was coming back. She thought she would cry once more, but she felt too weak to cry.

"I'm so sorry," Daenerys whispered with a teary voice and squeezed her hand. "You don't deserve that. Neither of you does." She blinked away her tears as she embraced her friend and tried to comfort her.

Missandei comforted Daenerys as well. "Don't cry, my Queen," she told her and was astounded how strong her voice sounded, although she didn't feel strong at all. "_Valar morghulis_. There is nothing we can change about that."

Daenerys sat up again and wished her face dry. "Yes, you're right," she nodded. Then she smiled at her friend.

It was in that moment that Missandei made a vital decision and for its execution she needed to be alone. "Would it be alright if you gave me some time for myself now?" she asked and tried to sound weak instead of resolved.

"Of course," the Queen conceded at once and stroked over the other's hair in an affectionate way. "I'll come back later. And you'll see, tomorrow will be kinder."

Missandei managed a fake smile.

When her friend had left the room, Missandei quickly stood up, steadying herself with one hand on the bed, for she felt dizzy, and went over to the door to lock it. She didn't want the Khaleesi or anyone else to come back in the next hour.

In Missandei's point of view, it was crystal clear: a life without Torgo Nudho wasn't worth living for. She wanted to die and she wanted to die soon. With this decision in her mind, she calmly started her work.

First, she sat down at her writing desk and wrote a letter. It read:

_My dearest Daenerys_,

_I hope you will be neither too mournful nor too irate with me for leaving you in this world. But without Grey Worm, my life has lost its purpose. I am not willing to continue living without him. I hope you can understand. _

_ And I also want you to know that I am not deserting you. I would not go if I wasn't certain that there are many other people near you who will serve you with their lives as I have done. Ser Jorah will protect you, Tyrion will guide you, and Jon Snow will love you. You don't need me anymore. As I once said to Ser Davos, when he implied I was enslaved to you: 'If I wanted to sail home to Naath, you would give me a ship and wish me good fortune.' This is my sailing home. But my home isn't in Naath anymore, it's with Grey Worm, wherever he is now. _

_ As you would wish me good fortune, I will wish you good fortune as well. You are the Queen we chose, the Queen we believe in. And once the War is over, you will make the best Queen this world has ever seen. _

_ Farewell, my Khaleesi and best friend anyone can have. _

_ Your true friend,_

_ Missandei _

She didn't read it over, she didn't have the heart for it. Carefully she folded the piece of parchment and wrote Daenerys' name on it. She would have preferred to tell her friend in person how she felt and why she had to leave, but she knew that Daenerys would try to convince her to stay and that she would probably succeed. Missandei, however, was tired of living now, and not even her Queen could change that.

Then she thought of her possibilities of dying. She could jump out of the window, it was high enough and there was no snow under her window but the hard stones of a yard. But no, she thought, then someone had to clean up the mess, and she didn't want to be a burden to anyone. That meant that cutting herself with a knife was out of the question as well. She wished she had some poison with her but she didn't dare to go to the Maester for some. What if she met someone in the corridors, especially Daenerys? What if the Maester refused her request but instead noticed the Queen of her behaviour. All her chances of dying would be gone by then.

No, there was only one way, she realised. Mechanically, as if her spirit had already left her body, she took the belt that held her dress and flung it over a wooden beam in the middle of the room, making a noose – in this moment she was glad that she had once learned how to make one from another slave, who had to knot the nooses for the executions of his master. After she had unlocked the door, because she didn't want anyone breaking anything of Winterfell because of her, she placed a chair under the noose and climbed onto it. Putting her head in the noose and tightening it, she calmly breathed in and out – then she jumped and knocked the chair aside.


	33. Davos, Greyscale

Chapter 33 – Davos - Greyscale

Ser Davos couldn't sleep. This was nothing unusual for him, especially since the night he lost both Stannis and Shereen, and his sole purpose in life had been taken from him, not to mention that his son was also gone. He was glad that he had found a new purpose in life by aiding the King in the North, for if not… he didn't like to imagine what he might have done…

So, like in every night in which Davos couldn't fall asleep, he carved wooden figures and later gave them away, normally to the children that lived in or around Winterfell. To them, he was already known as the kind knight with the wooden toys. It was his pleasure and he didn't need the figures after he had built them. He even once gave a wooden bear to Lyanna Mormont who then had been torn between declining the gift (for she didn't want to seem like a child) and hiding her joy of such a nice figurine.

This night he carved a wolf, maybe Samwell's little boy would like this toy. Immersed in his thoughts and work, he started to first hum and then sing a song he knew well: it was Shireen's favourite song, the one she had invented herself.

.

_It's always summer, under the sea_

_I know, I know, oh, oh, oh_

_The birds have scales, and the fish take wing_

_I know, I know, oh, oh, oh_

_The rain is dry, and the snow falls up_

_I know, I know, oh, oh, oh_

_._

_The stones crack open, the water burns_

_._

_The shadows come to dance, my love_

_The shadows come to play_

_The shadows come to dance, my love_

_The shadows come to stay_

_._

He sometimes tried to read when he couldn't sleep but reading made him sad. It reminded him of all the hours the little princess had tried to teach him and had corrected his bad pronunciation. It was only because of her that he had even tried to learn how to read in the first place – when he had already been in his late forties. And he hadn't saved her, hadn't even been in the vicinity when that horrible woman had burned her. Stannis himself had sent him away because he knew that Davos would have put on a fight before anything happened to Shireen. If it hadn't been for the remaining of the wooden deer, the truth would have never come to light. He sometimes wondered if he, Davos, had been a better father to the little princess than her own father…

There was a light tap on his door and Davos turned around. "Come in," he shouted friendly, but one hand was around the pommel of his sword. Then again, if it was someone to harm him, why would they knock in the first place?

The door opened and Ser Jorah entered. "I am sorry to disturb you," he muttered. "I just wanted to make sure everything was alright." He indicated towards the candle which's shine apparently could be seen from under the door.

"Yes, everything's fine," Davos replied and removed his hand from the sword; there was nothing to worry from Ser Jorah. "I just couldn't sleep."

"Me neither," the other admitted.

"Here, please take a seat," Davos offered him his chair and sat down on his bed instead.

Jorah nodded his gratitude and sat down. He saw the wooden wolf, took it carefully into his hand and inspected the half-finished creature.

"That's what I do when I can't sleep," Davos explained. "I always carve something. Helps me relax."

Jorah nodded. "I roam the castle and try to protect the Queen." He smiled bitterly. "Your occupation is better. The wolf is wonderful craftsman's ship." He cautiously placed it onto the table again.

"Thanks," Davos smiled. He looked at his spontaneous visitor and noticed once more the wounds on his neck. "You had Greyscale, hadn't you?"

Jorah looked alarmed but nodded.

Davos could have asked if he was cured now but he knew that the Mormont knight would not have risked their lives, especially the life of the Queen, if he wasn't completely healed. "How were you cured?" he wanted to know instead with sudden interest. He had never heard of someone who had survived Greyscale as a grown man. Normally adults would sail for Valyria as soon as possible to live their lives with the Stone Men until they were like them, only monsters that would turn to stone sooner or later. "How were you even infected?"

Jorah gave him a sad smile. "There was a time when I was a different man," he began to tell, "and I did some things I am not proud of. As you probably know I exiled to Essos when Ned Stark wanted my head for trading slaves." He looked at the other man warily, as if he waited to be judged by him, but Davos returned his bitter smile.

"I used to be a smuggler." He lifted his left hand where Stannis had shortened his fingers.

Jorah nodded at this information and continued: "My only way to get a pardon from King Robert at that time was by spying on Daenerys." His face distorted into disdain and regrets. "I changed my loyalty soon after I met her, but a few years later she found out about my spying activities and commanded me to leave Mereen – and her." He gulped at that memory. "I had nowhere to go, so I travelled through the lands for a while – until I found Tyrion Lannister in a brothel in Volantis. I thought this was my chance, so I kidnapped him and tried to bring him back to my Queen, in the hope that she would pardon me. On our way, we crossed Valyria, and the Stone Men attacked us. That was when I got infected…" He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and Davos saw red spots on the whole arm.

"How were you cured?" he repeated in awe. The disease was more spread than he had expected, and yet Ser Jorah had been healed.

Here, the other knight smiled and rolled back his sleeve. "I went to the Citadel in Old Town, hoping that one of the maesters would be able to heal me, but in the end, it was a young apprentice who was brave enough and skilled enough to rip every greyscale of my body until I was fully healed again." He paused for a moment before he announced: "Samwell Tarly."

Ser Davos raised his eyebrows in surprise. The world could be so small, he thought and chuckled, but then his face fell. "A friend of mine had Greyscale when she was a baby, but somehow she was cured, as well."

Either Ser Jorah knew of whom Davos was speaking of or he kept silent for other reasons.

"But you're with your Queen now," Davos then comforted and tried to lift the mood again. "Were you able to bring her the little Lannister in the end?" That would at least explain how Tyrion had become the Queen's Hand.

Jorah nodded. "Although that was not enough for her. But when I later came to her rescue in Vaes Dothrak, she finally forgave me." At first, he smiled lightly before his eyes turned sad when he started to remember something else. "She wanted to embrace me in that moment and although that had been the one thing, I had wanted for months I had to step back because of the Greyscale." Another small smile grazed his lips. "It was she who commanded me to find a cure and come back to her."

Ser Davos looked at the other man and really saw him for the first time. Only now did he understand his motivation fully. He felt bad for what he was about to state but when he watched the secretly dreaming face of the older knight, he would try to dampen his hopes now before he got hurt. "You know that Daenerys has eyes for Jon?"

As expected, the joyous look vanished from Jorah's face in a second and turned into ache. "I know that she will never belong to me," he admitted, whispering. "But sometimes it's easier to pretend than face the reality."

Davos nodded at this, not knowing what best to speak, when suddenly a loud scream pierced through the still castle.

The two men stood up at once, glanced at each other shortly, before dashing out of the room, both of their swords drawn. The guest wing was calm, but they heard loud sobbing coming from the Family Wing, so they followed the sound until they saw Queen Daenerys sitting on the floor, staring into an open room with horror and grief in her face.

"Khaleesi," Jorah stammered when he reached her and put his arms around her shoulders comforting. He searched around for the trigger of her behaviour until his gaze fell into the room and he gasped.

Davos went to them as well and when he also peered into the room, he was too struck with horror to even curse under his breath, as he always did. There in the middle of the room hung Missandei of Naath. Apparently, she had committed suicide with her own belt and now her dead eyes stared into nothing while her small body slowly turned in the low winds of the castle.

The other inhabitants of the Family Wing made their way onto the corridor, and while the King in the North and Lady Arya stormed towards them at an instance, Davos could see Lady Sansa staying behind, uncomfortably putting her arms around herself.

Jorah helped Daenerys to her feet when Jon arrived and took her arms.

"What happened?" he wanted to know before he also detected Missandei, and his eyes widened in shock.

"I just left her for a moment," the Queen sobbed. "She wanted to have a moment of time alone. I would have never thought… It's all my fault."

"No, it's not," Jorah told her at once, but it was obvious he was at loss of how to help her best. He still had one hand on her shoulder, though.

"If I had come sooner to look after her, then I could have prevented it," Daenerys continued, oblivious to her friends comforting her.

"Dany, look at me!" Jon told her sternly and for the first time, her eyes focused on something else than her dead friend. "This is not your fault. It was her own choice and there is nothing any of us could have done to prevent it. Do you understand?"

Slowly, she nodded.

"Don't worry," he continued. "She will get a proper burial."

Daenerys continued to nod but it was obvious how shocked she still was.

"Come," Jon suggested gently. "I'll bring you to bed." He cautiously tucked at her arms until her feet moved, and the knight's hand fell from her shoulder.

After a few steps, however, she turned around. "Ser Jorah," she addressed the knight, her voice still tear-stricken. "Will you look after her, please?"

"Of course," Jorah replied dutifully as always. "I will not leave her until she rests peacefully."

"Good," Daenerys sighed and then left with Jon into her room.

But Ser Davos, always a considerate observer, saw the hurt on Jorah's face when his Queen chose the King in the North over him.


	34. Jaime, Abyss

Chapter 34 – Jaime – Abyss

He stared into the dark nothingness of his room (which he had been recently given, though with guards in the corridor) and tried to numb his still too active consciousness with alcohol. But since it was only wine, it took him forever before he would be finally drunk enough to black out.

There was a knock on his door, but he didn't stir – nothing mattered anymore. Not his room in Winterfell, not that he was here to save the ones he loved from deadly peril, not that he stank of alcohol and sweat, nothing, no person, no circumstances. If there was a White Walker at his door, he would still not move but let it just happen. It all did not matter anymore!

But there was one person in this whole world left that mattered, and it was this person who opened the door.

"Jaime?" Tyrion asked cautiously into the dark room. He looked around until he found his brother sitting in a corner on the floor, three bottles of wine next to him. After closing the door behind him, he approached the miserable man slowly. "You already know, don't you?"

Jaime didn't even look up. "A servant shouted it through the corridor," he replied bitterly, his voice hoarse. "'The Queen is dead,' he yelled over and over again. 'Queen Cersei is dead'."

"I'm so sorry," Tyrion mumbled. "I wanted to be the person to tell you. I would have told you gentler."

"Don't worry," Jaime snorted. "There would have been no way to make this easier for me." He took another large sip out of the wine bottle. He didn't like drinking alcohol and wasn't very fond of wine, but desperate times called for desperate actions.

"Ah," Tyrion made as if he remembered something. "Here, this is for you." He put a bottle with clear brown liquid next to him on the stone floor.

Jaime looked at it puzzled. "What's that?"

"That's the strongest alcohol I possess," he told him proudly. "It's pure whiskey, and I have taken it with me since leaving Essos. I tell you, the Essosi make the best hardcore alcohol there is. I had saved this bottle for a special occasion, a bad occasion where I would need to drink myself into oblivion. But I believe this time has come for you now instead."

Jaime took the bottle into his hands and opened it. The smell let his eyes water and therefore made the drink perfect for what he had in mind. He took a sip and coughed. Absolutely perfect. "Thank you," he rasped.

"Your welcome," Tyrion replied. "May I sit with you or would you rather be alone?"

Jaime considered this for a moment before he nodded to the seat next to him. "You're my brother, and now the last relation I have." His mother, father, and children were dead. And now his sister, as well…

Tyrion sat down, and together they sat in the darkness in silence while Jaime drank from the bottle of whiskey.

"You want some?" he offered his little brother the strong alcohol a few minutes later.

"No thanks," Tyrion smiled. "But I'll take some wine if that's alright with you."

"Be my guest," Jaime muttered and slowly he began to have trouble with forming the words in his mouth correctly. _Splendid_, he thought relieved, _the sooner, the better_.

"You know," he whispered after a while. "Three nights ago I had trouble sleeping. I woke up every now and then and when I slept, I had nightmares. I dreamt of her wedding to Robert, how that fool had never appreciated her. And I dreamt of the one time she fell into a well. Do you remember?"

"I do," Tyrion responded gloomily. "We looked all over for her, the whole night through until you found her."

Jaime nodded which made him dizzy. "I always had this certain connection with her. I always knew where to find my twin and how she felt. I believe that's why I couldn't sleep. I could feel her hurt and loneliness through our connection. And this connection is now… gone." There it surfaced again, his utter pain. He had tried to drown it completely but instead, the tears streamed over his face once more. He had believed he had already used them all, but maybe the alcohol had brought more water into his system.

When he felt Tyrion put his arms around him and trying to give him any possible solace, Jaime's composure was destroyed completely. He hugged his little brother and sobbed loudly.

"She was pregnant," he cried. "And this time I could have been a real father to the child. Not only a distant uncle. But no… I can't believe she committed suicide. Of all the ways to die. If I had been there, I could have stopped her. She would still live, if I hadn't left her." His voice broke.

"Shh," Tyrion made and rubbed his back. "I know there is not much I can say for comfort, I know how much you loved her. But there is one good thing I can tell you: she is now with her children again, with your children, and Cersei was many things but the best of her qualities was her love for your children. She was a wonderful mother and now she is with the Seven where she can continue to be a wonderful mother to them. Until you join them one day and her happiness will be complete."

Jaime slowly nodded, as this image filled his mind. He could see her on a white cloud, surrounded by a laughing Joffrey, a waving Tommen, and a giggling Mycella. "Yes," he mumbled. "Yes." And finally, he drifted off into the black nothingness with no more worries and only wonderful images.


	35. Theon, Scent

Chapter 35 – Theon – Scent

Not far. Almost there. He recognised the hills, the forests the roads, the small villages at the horizon, even in their snowy disguise.

Theon pushed his horse and the men behind him followed. He longed to be back in Winterfell, his real home if he was honest – because _she_ was there, and he missed her terribly.

It had been quite easy for Yara to take King's Landing, for there had been no one to stop them. The Lannister army had deserted the city and had returned to their families in the Westlands to live with them through the winter, queen Cersei had been already dead, and the common folk had been thankful for the food and supplies the Greyjoys had brought with them from Essos. The city was theirs now, and therefore it was Queen Daenerys', and he knew Yara was proud to be of assistance after her capture, and he was proud of his sister, of course. Taking the city had been very easy, indeed, but keeping the Ironborn from spoiling and raping their prize had been much more difficult. But Yara's men were loyal and would do anything for her, so when she had told them this was the Queen's way, they had obeyed if grudgingly.

Yara would stay in King's Landing until their Queen would tell her otherwise – probably to sail north – but Theon had to go to Winterfell the moment he was able to.

"You want to go to your Sansa," Yara had guessed smugly and – to his dismay – correctly. He should have never told her about his escape and travels with the Stark girl.

"She's not mine," he had replied bitterly.

His sister, however, had taken his chin so that he had to look her in the eyes. "But she will be," she had assured him seriously. "After everything you've told me I believe she likes you quite a bit, too. And it seems that she has to be an extraordinary girl if my little brother, who fucked half the country, wants to marry her."

He had shrugged her off, annoyed. "I don't want to marry her," he had declared, but of course that was a lie.

Yara had simply chuckled and although he didn't like her teasing, he knew she only meant well. But he was glad that Yara had nothing against his leaving her so soon again and even gave him a fast ship and ten brave men to protect him on his way north, on the sea until they reached White Harbor and then on the King's Road.

Of course, he had told her that he didn't need protection, but in hindsight, he was glad for the extra swords – it had made travelling easier and therefore quicker.

There it finally was: the towers of Winterfell rose into the grey sky, and the red leaves of the weirwood tree stood in contrast to its colourless surroundings.

Theon was astounded by the sheer amount of tents in the fields around the castle but he had only eyes for the Main Gates. He wanted to see her again, hug her again, hear her laugh again. She had such a beautiful laugh but the last time he had had the chance of enjoying her laughter, she had been a young, innocent, probably stupid girl, he had been an arrogant fucker, and Robb Stark had still been alive…

The nearer he rode to the castle, the more he started to have second thoughts. What if Sansa didn't like him anymore? What if she was angry with him for all the terrible crimes he had committed? What if she would even send him away, telling him she didn't need him anymore, because she had Jon back at her side. What if her kind words and gestures had only been because of their cruel torture by Ramsay and not because she truly meant them? What if she had been just shocked and grateful for any help, even from him?

They finally reached the Gates and the guards let them pass after he had told them his name. Apparently, he hadn't been banished from the castle. Yet, maybe.

He rode into the courtyard, dismounted his horse and looked around, his men behind him. It was good to see the Stark banners hanging again and kind people at their work. He gazed everywhere, searching for her, obviously, when his eyes suddenly fell on the dogs' kennels.

His breath caught in his throat and with a rush, everything came back to him. How Ramsay had tortured and finally broken him, how he had slept right there next to the dogs, how he had fought against his sister in fear of his master, how he had only been a shell of himself, how Ramsay had raped Sansa on their wedding night and many nights thereafter. It all came back to him, so suddenly that he fell on his knees and couldn't breathe anymore. Tears stung in his eyes, blurred his sight and made it thus easier to remember all the horror that had happened right here in Winterfell.

Why had he ever left? Ramsay will be so disappointed and angry and will cut him again and torture him again and kill Sansa! He wished he was rather dead than be at the mercy of this monster ever again. But what choice did he have?

"Theon!" someone suddenly shouted but he only heard it dimly, as if through pouring rain.

He shook his head. "No, not Theon. Reek," he mumbled.

Someone kneeled in front of him and took his shoulders. "Theon?" Only by using this name, he knew that it couldn't be Ramsay. But maybe this person was a spy and would tell on him later.

"Reek," he said louder. "Reek!"

"No," the voice continued and sounded devastated. "No, you're Theon Greyjoy and no one else! Look at me, Theon!" The voice took his face in both hands and made him look up.

He distinctly saw something red. Hair, he realised after a while, and then icy-blue eyes stared at him and he recognised them at once. "Sansa?" he whispered. He didn't believe her to be real, this must be a dream, and Ramsay would wake him any minute!

She smiled at him teary. "Yes, it's me, Sansa. And you're Theon. And Ramsay is dead. I saw how his dogs killed him. He's gone, forever! And he can never torment any of us again!"

Suddenly he felt her arms around his body and his cheek was pressed against her shoulder. Marginally he noticed that he and Sansa were still kneeling in the cold snow and soon the mud would turn her dress dirty, but then all of a sudden he could smell her – her lovely flowery scent although there were not many flowers in the North – and he calmed down at once and progressed what she had said and what it meant.

Ramsay was dead.

His name was Theon Greyjoy.

He was home.

And Sansa didn't hate him.


	36. Jorah, Hurt

Chapter 36 – Jorah – Hurt

Jorah breathed deeply in and out to calm himself before he knocked on her door.

"Come in," she called in her wonderful voice and all his calming breaths were in vain.

He tentatively opened the door and stepped inside.

She was alone, sitting at her desk and reading some letters. She smiled at him, though it still didn't reach her eyes, and went to him. "And?", she wanted to know, and he fell instantly into his role of her advisor, and nothing more.

"I have inspected the camp outside of Winterfell," he dutifully reported. "Only a few are sick, with fevers or the sniffles but I have ordered to bring them more blankets and hot herbal soup. They should be fit in a few days. The rest of the army looked fine. It is a good thing to have brought enough tents and furs."

Her worried face softened slowly, and she nodded relieved that her people were alright. One more thing he admired about her – not many leaders would worry over their thousands of army men as long as they had enough.

Suddenly she stepped closer so that only two feet were between them, and all his thoughts vanished.

"Thank you, Jorah," she told him sincerely, raising her petite, elegant hand and resting it gently on his cheek. "You've always been the best of my friends."

At first, the touch felt like heaven to him, but only a second later a hurtful pang went through his heart when his mind realised that what he wished the most would never happen. He closed his eyes in agony and stepped away from her, her hand hanging in the air. "Please, don't," he mumbled in a low voice that conveyed his desperation. He dared to glance at her and she watched him in confusion and hurt, so he explained further. "You know that I love you, and I know that you'll never love me."

She opened her mouth, probably to object, so he added quickly: "Not in the same way," and she closed her mouth slowly, thereby agreeing.

Gulping she replied in a thick voice: "You are my truest friend. I value your friendship almost above anything else." She sounded afraid; maybe she feared that after Missandei she would lose another friend.

He didn't want her to be frightened, he just needed to set boundaries. "And I always will be your friend – but nothing more. I know that one day you'll find someone you genuinely love and who will love you. And I am prepared for that but please don't make it harder for me than it already is." He wasn't stupid. Of course, he was too old, too tainted, and too ugly to have any right to be by her side like this. And he had seen the way she looked at Jon Snow. She had stayed at his bed for hours when they had departed from Eastwatch, constantly worrying, and had let him comfort her after Missandei's death. He had thought about asking her, advising her – but in the end, he didn't want to know. It probably was masochistic to still hope for anything, but without hope, there was only despair left…

He suddenly saw tears in her eyes, something he had never wanted, and it raised his own tears to his eyes.

"I-," she started but had to clear her throat. "I wished I loved you," she whispered.

He sighed. There was no need for her to speak the inevitable 'but' that was clinging in the room. Her words weren't making anything easier for him and the tears in his eyes threatened to spill over, so there was only one thing left for him to do. "Please, excuse me," he quietly insisted and bowed. "Khaleesi." He didn't dare to look at her face again, so he simply turned around, and fled the room, the situation and most of all her. But when he thought about the pain she was feeling now because she was a wonderful, gentle, caring woman, probably standing still, peering at the closed door, maybe even crying, he finally let the tears silently fall over his cheeks.


	37. Sansa, Knight

Chapter 37 – Sansa – Knight

Sansa looked around her room and waited patiently for her little guest this night. Everything was prepared: there were toys on the bear fur in front of the fireplace and a small crib next to her bed. She smiled at herself. This night she could try to be a mother and she was looking forward to it. She had been wondering for a while if she would be a good mother – a great aunt, definitely, but a mother? – so she saw this night as a test, and to her advantage the test person already liked her.

There was a knock on the door and Sansa opened it quickly. Gilly smiled at her, Little Sam on her arm, and Talla waved from behind, apparently more excited at the coming wedding than the wife-to-be.

Sansa greeted them warmly and bid them inside. Little Sam was already walking towards the toys after his mother had put him on the ground, his new wooden wolf that Ser Davos had given him in his small hands.

"Thank you so much for watching him tonight," Gilly told her. "This makes things easier, I guess."

"No problem," Sansa replied, smiling. "I'm looking forward to it." Since Sam was practically family because of his friendship to Jon and maybe also Bran, Sansa had tried to spend some time with him, as well as Gilly and the boy, and had soon found out what heart-warming people they were. And Little Sam had a strange fascination with her red hair…

"So, he already ate," Gilly started to list important things to be remembered. "Here, I have his favourite blanket. If he has trouble falling asleep, you should read to him, he likes it. I've also packed his favourite book. And if it's too much, if he starts crying or doesn't let you sleep, you come straight to us and we'll take him again, alright?"

Although Gilly looked at her with severe eyes, Sansa laughed. "I will not disturb you on your wedding night." Despite the fact that her two wedding nights were both disastrous – one unconsummated and one violently – she knew that normally it was supposed to be wonderful if the two people loved each other as Sam and Gilly obviously did. "It'll be fine, I promise. We're getting along, aren't we, Little Sam?" Sansa spoke a bit louder and the boy grinned at her happily.

"Sansy," he smiled and showed her a wooden horse. "Let's play."

"Almost there," she promised him and turned back to Gilly. "You see?"

"They're alright," Talla joined in and took Gilly's arm. "Come on, you'll need to get into your dress and I want to make your hair. We don't want to keep my brother waiting, do we?"

Gilly still didn't seem ready to go, so Sansa and Talla shoved her gently to the door.

"Everything's going to be alright," Sansa promised again and finally Gilly nodded and left the room. "Have a nice wedding," she called after them, before closing the door.

"So, Little Sam, now it's just you and me." With a mixture of joy but also anticipation of how well she would deal with the child, she went to him, sat down next to him on the fur and they started to play. Only a few minutes later it was plain to see how well they got along.

After a while, there was another knock on the door.

Frowning, Sansa stood up and went to the door. Gilly should already be at the Godswood for the wedding so who would come to visit her this late? It was already past dinner time, she quickly realised. Well, she would ask a maid to get some bread later out of the kitchen.

To her great surprise, there was none other than Theon on the other side of the door. His posture was better than the last time he was in Winterfell but still a bit crouched. And he still had problems with looking people in the eyes, especially her.

"You weren't at dinner," he muttered. "So, I've brought you something to eat." It was only then that Sansa noticed the small tray in his hands with soup, bread, and peas.

"Thank you," Sansa responded, her voice full of emotions for this kind gesture. She stepped aside. "Please, come in."

He nodded and went inside, where he put the tray on the table. Suddenly his gaze stopped at the small boy playing in front of the chimney. "I see, you have a guest already," he remarked in an attempt of normal chatter and she was grateful for it. Communicating with him or just interacting with him was sometimes quite difficult.

"Yes, this is Little Sam, the son of Sam and Gilly. They are currently marrying," she smiled at him and tried to force her blush to not enter her cheeks, but it was probably in vain. Further, she had just realised that she was almost alone with Theon in her room…

The small boy looked up at them. "What's 'marrying'?" he wanted to know.

Sansa smiled at him and went back to kneel next to him. "You marry someone you love," she tried to explain. "A person you want to share your whole life with." Automatically her gaze grazed Theon who stood a bit forlorn in the middle of the room. She patted the spot of the fur next to her. "Come," she told him gently. "Play with us."

Theon looked at her nervously. "I don't think I should." His gaze fell between the door and her. "I better go."

"No, please stay," she quickly responded and raised her hand in his direction at once. "Come here."

Slowly he went to her, still a small hump in his walk, and took her hand.

She gently pushed him down until he kneeled on the fur.

"You're the knight," Little Sam determined and gave Theon a small figure with a lance in his hands, also a gift from Ser Davos.

Sansa was grateful for the boy's open heart, it made things easier with Theon. And a part of her desperately wanted to know if he was good with children…

"And you're the princess, of course." Little Sam gave her the figure of a beautiful girl in a long red dress. "Because you're beautiful." In the tone of the boy, it was quite obvious.

Sansa better wanted to be someone else. The idea of being a princess remembered her too much of her childish ambitions and her time in King's Landing… But, of course, she didn't complain with the small boy. This was only a game and she was the only girl in the room.

"Yes, she is," Theon whispered almost inaudible but it still caught Sansa's ears.

She looked at him in shock, but he ignored it.

"And I'm the dragon!" Little Sam announced and already started to kidnap the princess. They were quite engrossed in the epic story, that afterwards the small boy yawned openly and Sansa brought him to bed.

"Where's Mama?" he suddenly wanted to know and looked around. This was probably the first time he had to spend the night without her.

"She's with Sam," Sansa assured him calmly and the boy nodded, seemingly relieved by this information. "Shall I read to you?" she offered and the boy nodded eagerly.

While she read a tale about a wolf in the woods, Little Sam fell asleep. Sansa tucked him closer under the blanket and when she turned around, she saw the same blissful smile on Theon's face that she felt herself. He was still sitting on the fur, so she joined him again.

"That was easier than I thought," Sansa admitted in a hushed tone in order not to wake the boy.

"You're good with children," Theon replied in the same careful whisper.

For a while, they stared silently into the flames of the chimney until he sadly stated: "I can understand why you'd rather watch the boy, then be with his parents."

Sansa immediately thought of her own wedding to Ramsay, in the Godswood, in the snow, and no, she definitely didn't want to be there. He probably had the same dark thoughts, for his face had grown bitter. They both had been through so much. She had started to care for him after their escape from Winterfell, but it wasn't until recently when after a few months of departure, she had realised how much she had missed him, needed him by her side, and even loved him… She knew she had to be brave in this matter because he never would, so she cleared her throat. "Theon," she spoke, and her tone made it clear how important her next sentences would be.

He looked at her expectantly and waited in attentive silence.

"There is something I want to tell you, or maybe I even have to, but I also want to." She took a calming breath before taking his hand into hers, trying to ignore his broken fingers.

He looked hastily between her hand and her eyes, not sure what was happening, more like a frightened doe than an Ironborn, and Sansa knew she had to be very careful.

"When we were children," she began to tell her little story and started chronologically, "I had a little crush on you." She smiled at him, blushing. This was something she had never told anyone before, but he needed to know.

He looked at her shocked, but she continued regardless.

"You were always quite handsome and very good with the bow. So one time, when I was 8, I guess, I stitched a Direwolf for you. I proudly presented you the piece of cloth, a handkerchief I believe, and all I wanted was your praise." Here her smile faltered, and her eyes turned sad. "But you looked at it for one moment and then you started to laugh. You said it didn't look anything like a wolf but more like a pile of shit."

Theon's cheeks reddened in shame. "I remember," he whispered while absent-mindedly stroking her hands with his thumb. "I was too proud to be a Greyjoy that I didn't want to accept the Stark sigil…"

Sansa shook her head at this. "It was your arrogance that I began to hate, and my crush dissolved into nothing."

He tried to loosen his hand from hers, but she held onto it.

"But things have changed," she told him firmly. "We have changed. And your arrogance and my snobbery have vanished. We both have received such an amount of violence and torture, you more than me, that it almost broke us completely. But we fought against it, together. We've both grown stronger through our experiences and aren't the stupid children anymore we once were. Theon, look at me, please."

He slowly met her gaze and what he saw apparently surprised him.

She stared at him with all her warmth and care she felt for him. "Theon," she quietly admitted, "I love you. And I just hope that you might feel the same for me." Nervously, she gulped but didn't avert her eyes. She needed to know if there was at least a chance for them.

Theon blinked at her in shock, then his eyes filled with tears. "Sansa," he stated, and she could already hear the love in his voice. "I do, I love you, but I can't," he stocked, not knowing how to articulate his fears that were now obvious on his face.

She didn't care for his objections, in her mind, he could have nothing to say against it if he truly loved her. "Theon," she repeated. She tried to say his name as often as possible to remind him of who he was. Stroking over his cheek and hair, she smiled at him. "Theon, there is nothing in the world that could take away our being together."

He still didn't look happy. "But Jon won't allow it."

She scoffed. "Jon can't decide whom I want to be with. I've been married twice for the sake of the House, this time I'm making my own choice. And I choose you. Because only we two can understand the pain of the other."

"But… you can't have… children with me." He gazed ashamed into his lap. "I'm not a real… man anymore," he whispered.

Sansa already knew about this part, Ramsay had gloated about it more than once in her presence. She gently took Theon's head between her hands and raised it, so he had to look her in the eyes. "It doesn't matter," she told him urgently. He needed to understand that she loved him despite everything that was wrong with him – because there was a lot that was wrong with her as well…

"But what about Winterfell? There must always be a Stark at Winterfell," he quoted her father's saying.

"Yes, you're right. There must always be a Stark at Winterfell. But I'm not the only of Ned Stark's children anymore," she smiled slightly. "There are Bran and Arya and even Jon. Their children can inherit Winterfell and I will be happy for them."

"But you love children," Theon looked at the sleeping Little Sam. "It was obvious this evening."

Sansa sighed, for Theon was right, but only partly. "Yes, I love children. I will be a wonderful aunt. But I can't be a real mother, because after what Ramsay did to me, I don't want… any man ever again… down there…" She tried to hold back her tears at the memory of her horrible copulation. "And besides, we can be foster parents. So, you see," she offered him a warm smile, "for me it is perfect that you aren't… a real man anymore. Although in my eyes you'll always be a real man because I know you will protect me." It was difficult for her to speak so freely of these things since Septa Mordane had taught her differently, but she had to have courage if she wanted this relationship to succeed.

He suddenly frantically shook his head while freeing his hands from hers. "You can't be sure of that. I don't know if I can protect you. I might… snap again." And he told her how he had fled the battle when Euron had taken his sister into captivity. "I wasn't able to save my sister then, and she is my sister! How can I be able to save you when something terrible happens?"

It hurt her to hear his desperation, so she took him in his arms and comforted him by stroking his back. "I have faith in you, Theon Greyjoy. When the time comes, you will have the strength to save everyone you love. I know that you will always protect me."

"But," he mumbled against her neck.

"No buts," she told him firmly. "As I said before, there is nothing in the world that could take away our being together." Except for death, she suddenly thought but didn't say it. Emotionally she continued: "I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine. For this winter and all the winters to come."

It seemed that finally he believed her and had nothing to retort against it anymore, for he started to cry, and his tears wetted her neck. But she didn't care – her own tears fell down into his hair.

They embraced each other for quite some time and although they were crying, they were finally in a long time happy.


	38. Samwell, Wedding

Chapter 38 – Samwell – Wedding

Sam stood in the Godswood, next to the crying tree with the red leaves. Jon stood on his other side and whenever he gave him a nervous glance, his best friend smiled at him reassuringly.

It was snowing, and the white crystals fell on the already think layer of snow that covered everything: the ground, the trees, the stones, the grass. It was beautiful, especially when the snowflakes shimmered in the flames of the torches that lit the way from the beginning of the Godswood to the weirwood tree.

Sam couldn't believe that this was actually happening. He, a man that was taunted his whole life by his father that no woman would ever want him, he, who had taken a vow in both the Night's Watch and the Citadel that he would take no wife, was going to marry. And not just anyone but the only woman he loved. The only woman he had ever loved and would ever love, the mother of his children and joy of his life, the only woman who ever saw more in him than a clumsy, fat boy, but a hero and a vast storage of knowledge. With her, he could be who he really was, and he still impressed her. His lovely Gillyflower.

They had decided to participate in a Northern wedding, although Sam was born in the South, but since Gilly was born beyond the Wall and Sam had already taken his Night's Watch's vow before the Old Gods, they were both more comfortable with a Northern wedding, especially in Winterfell. Besides, Sam had told her, the Old Gods had answered his prayers, obviously, when the New Gods never had.

"There they come," he heard Jon murmur and looked at the beginning of the path where two women slowly walked towards them. He gave Jon another nervous smile. This all was only possible because of him, for the King in the North had revoked his vow of the Night's Watch (for the first time in history), so here he was, free to marry his soulmate.

"We could all be dead in a few weeks," Jon had told him gravely when Sam had asked him of this favour. "Of course, I want you to be as happy as possible."

Now Sam could finally see the two women more clearly. His sister was wearing a green dress, her favourite one if he recalled it correctly. She probably had her hair in a wonderful fashion as well but all he could look at was the lovely girl beside her.

Gilly wore a white gown with white fur on top and silver flowers sewn all over it. She had made it herself with the help of Sansa, and he was very curious to finally see it, for he had not been allowed to before. Her hair was braided in a southern style and he could detect his sister's work at once. But it was nothing of these things that made her such a beauty, it was her shy smile that lit her eyes brightly and made him feel like the worthiest man alive.

Gilly and Talla stopped a few metres before them and waited apprehensively.

Sam felt the same suspense, and his heartbeat accelerated quickly. This was it. This was finally the moment he had secretly dreamed of since he met Gilly at Craster's Keep.

There was no one else around, no other witnesses or guests, and it felt even more special, more intimate. Only these four people – and Ghost, of course – together in the snow, in front of the Old Gods – it couldn't be more perfect.

Jon stepped forward. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" he said the ritual text in a solemn manner. Who better to carry out this ceremony than the King in the North himself?

Talla looked up and Sam could see her gulping nervously. His sister had been quite excited by the news of his and Gilly's wedding and had promised to learn her lines properly, but he knew that she had always trouble speaking when it was important. "Gilly of House-," she stopped abruptly, and her eyes widened in shock. She glanced at Gilly who nodded at her reassuringly, so Talla continued, calmer now. "Gilly, of no House. A wildling girl from beyond the Wall with no last name. She is here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble none the less. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Now it was Sam's turn, so he stepped forward as well. "Samwell of House Tarly. Lord of Horn Hill." When Jon had freed him of his vows, he had suddenly inherited his childhood home. He had been concerned about Talla's reaction since it had belonged to her before, but she had been glad. "It has always been yours," she had smiled warmly. "Besides, I have no idea how to rule."

"Who gives her?" Sam continued with the wedding ritual.

Talla smiled at him with all her sisterly affection. "Talla of House Tarly, who is her best friend." Now her smile glided over to Gilly who returned the gesture with all her heart.

Sam was so glad in this moment that his sister and wife-to-be got along so well, that he almost forgot that now the most important part would come.

"Lady Gilly," Jon announced officially, and Sam was glad for his best friend's acceptance of his choice, although technically Gilly was not a lady. Not yet, anyway. "Will you take this man?"

Gilly smiled at Sam, and he could see tears of joy in her eyes. "Yes," she announced firmly. "I take this man, for this winter and all the winters to come."

Sam wanted to rush to her and kiss her with all his love, but it wasn't over, yet.

"Lord Samwell," Talla spoke. "Will you take this woman?"

"Yes," Sam wanted to say as firmly as his Gilly had but the words stuck a bit in his throat in all these emotions. "I take this woman, for this winter and all the winters to come."

"Then," Jon declared, and Sam could hear the joy in his voice, "I pronounce you husband and wife for this winter and all the winters to come."

There Sam was finally allowed to embrace his wife and kiss her with all his love and all his joy, and he thought he couldn't be happier but then he felt all of his love returned by his wonderful Gilly and there never had been a more perfect moment in his life.


	39. Brandon, Sword

Chapter 39 – Brandon – Sword

Bran sat in the Great Hall and waited. A guard had told him that a girl named Meera wished to see him, so he had sent for her to the Great Hall. He didn't want to meet her in his room again, for it would remind her too much of his cold farewell the last time. He sighed tragically at this memory. He didn't like to be so cold all the time but when you realise how small you and everyone around you is in contrast to the eternal path of time, nothing really matters anymore.

Someone suddenly entered the empty Hall and when Bran looked up, he saw Meera. She hadn't changed a bit and her face brought a smile to his lips that one could not see often these days.

"Hello, Meera," he greeted her and tried to sound friendly.

She stepped towards him until she stood in front of him. "Hello, Brandon," she replied stiffly and it was obvious how angry she still was.

"Meera," he tried to soothe her. "I am truly sorry about my behaviour last time."

Her eyes still narrowed but he could see that she was listening, so he continued to explain.

"I like you, I really do," he admitted and tried to put warmth into his voice, though it still sounded neutral. "But I'm not good in showing it anymore. Only a part of me likes you, still needs your help, but that part – the old me – is only a small percentage of who I am now. As the Three-Eyed Raven, I am all persons in the world and time at once. I can see everyone and therefore _be_ everyone. It's getting more and more difficult to stay here in the present and not go somewhere else." Somewhere he could walk, he added in his thoughts. That was probably the true reason for his addiction to study the world in his mind. Wherever he went, he could walk again.

Meera raised her hands. "Stop it, Bran, please," she countered still mad at him. "I understand that you have changed, and I try to accept it, but we both know you would not have written to me if you didn't need anything. So, tell me at once, why did I have to come to Winterfell?"

"Why did you come at all?" Bran had to ask. If it weren't for him, then why?

She sighed. "Jojen died because he believed in you. I almost died trying to save you. This world needs you. And when you need something from me, I will always answer your call, because it is my destiny to do everything in my power, so that in the end the living will survive."

Bran stared at her and admired her determination. How much he wished that it mattered.

"So," she continued firmly. "What do you want from me?"

"We," another voice suddenly announced, "need your sword."

Bran simply turned his head but Meera turned around surprised. It was just Arya, however, and although she had become quite scary sometimes, there was nothing to worry from her.

"Who are you?" Meera wanted to know, a hand on the pommel of her sword.

"Hello," Arya smiled friendly and stepped closer. "My name is Arya, I'm Bran's older sister. Well, one of them, at least." She stretched out her hand. "And you must be Meera, right?"

"Um, yes," their guest answered and shook Arya's hand.

"I am very happy to finally meet you," his sister stated sincerely. "I've heard a lot about you. Thank you very much for looking after my brother. I believe that without you, he would not be with us anymore."

Meera blinked a few times and nodded finally. "Um, yes, I guess so. Huh, I believe, you're the first person who has ever thanked me for this. Sincerely thanked me," she added, shooting Bran a dark look.

Bran smiled apologetically but remained silent. He was content with Arya taking over the conversation; human interactions had become quite difficult for him – and boring.

His sister stared at Meera's sword. "This is it," she announced awestruck. "I can't believe it. This is _Dark Sister_."

"Who?" Meera asked irritated.

"This sword belonged to Visenya Targaryen, one of the two sisters who conquered Westeros together with Aegon over 300 years ago," Arya explained, and her eyes lit with excitement.

Bran knew how much his sister admired the Targaryen conquerors – she had called her Direwolf Nymeria after all.

"Everyone believed it to be lost until Bran saw that you took it in an icy cave north of the Wall. This sword is the reason why we wanted you to come here – thanks, by the way for your quick travels. This sword is Valyrian steel, and Valyrian steel can kill White Walkers."

Bran could see the realisation on Meera's face. Yes, this was the reason why she could kill the wights in the cave of the Three-Eyed Raven.

"I need this sword," Arya continued and tried not to sound urgent but failed. "I don't have a Valyrian Sword, and since I am one of the best sword fighters our side has, I definitely need one. And this one is particularly made for a woman. So, you see, you need to give me the sword."

Meera stepped back. "I can't just give you my sword!" she replied fearfully. "It has saved me more than once. I don't have another weapon, and in times like these, you don't stand a chance without a weapon. Especially when its Valyrian steel!"

"Meera, please," Bran intervened, but no one paid him any attention.

Arya nodded at this argumentation. "I can understand your point of view completely, so let us make a deal." She took Petyr Baelish's dagger out of its sheath and showed it to Meera. "This is also Valyrian steel. Let us exchange our weapons."

Meera looked at the dagger sceptically, and finally at Bran, who nodded in confirmation. Apparently, she still trusted him, because she gave her consent and loosened her sword belt, giving it to Arya afterwards and taking the dagger with its sheath instead. "I can fight better with a dagger, to be honest," she admitted with a smirk.

"Oh, all the Gods there are," Arya cried out in joy when she held the sword in hand. "I can't believe I'm allowed to fight with _Dark Sister_!"

Bran chuckled at this and was glad that he hadn't lost all of his human emotions, yet.


	40. Talla, Coin

Chapter 40 – Talla – Coin

"Gilly, please, I do this for your own safety, and Little Sam's and… you know, the other little one's." Sam tried to calm down his wife but he failed terribly.

"You promised me that wherever you go, I go, too!" Gilly shouted furiously.

"This is different!"

Talla sighed and finally hissed: "Will you please stop this! You two love each other, this might be the last time you see each other! If I were you, I wouldn't spoil my farewell with angry words!" She shook her head and left the two to hopefully say a proper goodbye.

It had been decided to evacuate the women, old, young, and ill – all those who would be no help in the fight. They would travel south, hopefully, not falling into Lannister hands, and if all hell broke loose, flee to Essos…

Talla looked around the courtyard in search of _him_, but it was quite crowded in the little courtyard. She saw Lord Varys, who entered his carriage. At first, she had been afraid that he would accompany them, since the Spider (and spiders in general) had always freaked her out, but then Sansa had told her that he had convenient influences in Westeros, but even better ones in Essos, that he was absolutely not interested in women, and that he was Tyrion's best friend – and that had soothed her in the end.

She continued her search until she found him. He stood there in the middle of the yard, overseeing the evacuation, but when his eyes met hers, he smiled and went towards her.

This was all the encouragement she needed for her plan. Quickly she made her way to him and because she didn't want to tower above him, she fell to her knees and into the snow.

Tyrion's eyes widened in shock. "Please, stand up, your dress…"

But Talla shook her head. Her dress did so not matter in that moment. _She_ would say a proper goodbye! "Here," she announced, took his hand and placed a gold coin in his palm. "I want you to borrow this coin from me."

He looked at her confused. "Why?"

"Because then," she smiled sadly, "you have to come back to me. A Lannister always pays his debt."

She wasn't sure how he would react – laugh at her joke? reject her? kiss her? – but she had never guessed to make him speechless. The seconds it took him to form words, she stroked over his hand with her thumb, for she wanted to show him how much she cared for him, but she knew well she couldn't just tell him. Though she wasn't the best, she tried to be at least a proper lady.

Finally, Tyrion could muster a reaction. With his hand that was still in hers, he helped her up on her feet again. Then he looked her sincerely in the eyes and Talla wasn't sure, but it seemed to her that his eyes were suddenly filled with a warmth she hadn't seen there before. "I will," he promised, "my lady." And hastily he kissed her hand in a gentle way.

That kiss in combination with the words '_my_ lady' was enough to make Talla giggly with joy. She grinned at him happily, before she quickly turned around and ran to her carriage, where Gilly and Little Sam were already seated, Sam stroking over their cheeks and hair till the last minute of their time together.

Talla gazed out of the window, where Tyrion still stared at her with a small smile on his lips, and despite this gloomy situation, her heart was filled with hope and love and the wish for him and her to survive this unnatural war.


	41. Sansa, Farewell

Chapter 41 – Sansa – Farewell

There was an uncommon bustle on the courtyard of Winterfell this morning, and Sansa was in its middle.

"Make sure, everyone has enough blankets," she ordered a few servants. "It's going to be quite cold, even in the carriages."

The servants nodded and began with their task.

Sansa sighed and looked around. She didn't want to leave Winterfell, but the Council had made her the responsible leader for the evacuation of the old, young, ill, and those unable to fight. They all would leave their home, the North, and would try to make it as far south as possible, in case everything went wrong… She didn't want to think about the worst case, for it would not only mean that she had lost all the family that was left to her, but also that she would have to go to Essos in order to survive. The White Walkers weren't able to swim. Hopefully, they also weren't able to ascend a ship…

"I am not abandoning my people!" Sansa had shouted when the Council first had made the suggestion of her going south. "Maybe I am not capable of fighting but I'm still good with organisations."

"Exactly," Jon had told her. "And therefore, we need your talent in the most chaotic because fast evacuation the North has ever seen. Those people need someone strong for guidance, especially since you're a Stark."

Sansa had wanted to say something against it and her heart told her many reasons – don't leave your family! don't leave your love! – but her sharp mind had already grasped the situation and she knew she had to go.

"And you worked wonders with the frightened women in the Red Keep," Tyrion had reminded her, although she had wondered how he had known. "That night when Stannis Baratheon tried to siege King's Landing."

He had been right, they were all right, had all the right arguments, and she knew that especially in war you had to go where you were needed the most and not where you wanted to be – not unless you wanted to win.

Sansa looked around once more. It seemed to her as if she had only come home yesterday, and today she already had to leave again. She dearly hoped that she would return one day and that on this day Winterfell was still in the hands of a Stark – not like the last time she went south…

She saw Arya standing on the gallery, where Father had always stood when he watched over the yard. When the sisters' gaze met, they smiled shortly but evaded the other quickly. They had already said their goodbyes this morning, for Arya wasn't leaving.

"Of course, I'm not leaving," Arya had insisted when Sansa had suggested it. "I didn't train all these years in Essos for nothing!" And to be honest, Sansa knew her sister was right.

To her great surprise, her sister had honoured her with a very special gift when they said their farewells. "I want you to take _Needle_ with you," Arya had announced and presented her the sword.

"But it's _Needle_!" Sansa had exclaimed. "It's your most important possession!"

Arya had simply smiled at her. "But I don't need it anymore. At least not for this fight – I have _Dark Sister_ now. Why should I need two swords? But you will travel south and we both know how dangerous that can be." She swallowed, probably thinking of their father, mother, oldest brother, and direwolves like Sansa in that moment did. "So, I want you to have something you can use to protect you. You see, _Needle_ is specially made for a woman without many fighting skills, no offense."

"None taken," Sansa had whispered, for she had still been in awe at what had been happening there.

"And I asked Gendry to cover the tip with dragonglass, in case you'll have to fight something that isn't human…" She had looked at her beloved sword before she had shoved it into Sansa's hands. "First lesson," she had grinned, "stick them with the pointy end."

Sansa had laughed and had taken her sister into a firm hug. "I am very honoured and grateful for this present. And I promise you to bring it back to you." A small part of her mind suddenly had whispered, that if Arya would die, Sansa would have something to remember her – but she had shoved the thought away.

Now _Needle_ was at her belt, ready to be drawn if necessary – although Sansa had to practice at least a bit to have an idea how to use it. Not to mention that it felt strange for her to wear a sword at all. She remembered all the times she had scoffed about Arya's 'wild, un-ladylike' behaviour. But this was war, and if she looked at Brienne, she could see how someone was able to be a lady _and_ a warrior.

Sansa continued to gaze over the yard until she finally saw Theon. He stood around, shovelling uncomfortable with his feet and he seemed utterly lost.

She sighed in relief and made her way to him. It was hard to leave her family after they were only reunited recently, but it felt even worse to be separated from Theon. She had asked him to come with her, but he had shaken his head vigorously.

"I can't," he had told her, not meeting her eyes. "An Ironborn doesn't flee from anything."

Sansa knew that this was utter nonsense since he wasn't a real Ironborn anyway, but she also knew how complicated his life was right now, and so she didn't pressure him. Instead, she had simply taken him into her arms, stayed with him the whole night, and had tried to give him as much of her warmth and comfort as possible, for she wouldn't be able to give him anything for a long while. She hoped this was enough for him to stay sane…

Only when she stood right in front of him, did he notice her. He looked up, and his eyes were full of grief and hurt, but also love. He opened his mouth, closed it again when no words emerged from his throat, and tried once more, with the same failure.

Sansa offered him a sad smile and took his hand into hers. "I know," she merely whispered and pressed him against her. He didn't have to say that he loved her, that he would miss her, that he hoped she would return, that he wished they would both survive this war – it was all written in his face.

Theon hugged her fiercely back and pressed his nose into her neck.

She tried to keep back her tears but when she felt his on her skin, she let go as well.

They stayed like this for quite a while, silently crying and thereby saying goodbye, and when she finally had the strength to loosen herself from him, because she knew it was time to go, she tried to smile at him as optimistically as she could.

"We're going to see each other again," she promised him and probably also herself, and he nodded in agreement.

Sansa looked at his eyes, his face, tried to remember every little detail, before she took a deep breath, gave his hand one last squeeze – and turned around and paced away quickly, entering her carriage and giving the orders to start their little convoy, before she had the chance to change her mind. She didn't look back when they rode through the gates and over the fields; she couldn't bear it.

She shared a carriage with Gilly, Little Sam (on her lap, sleeping), and Talla. Since the other two women were crying as well, Sansa felt no incline on her dignity or authority to let her tears fall. All of them were leaving at least one person they dearly loved behind, and it wasn't certain at all if they would survive the war, if there would ever be a reunion…


	42. Eddison, News

Chapter 42 – Eddison – News

Edd sat at his desk in the chamber of the Lord Commander and started writing another letter that would go to Eastwatch by raven. For weeks they hadn't heard a word of the other castle and he had begun to worry. He had already sent out a scout but the man was not back, yet.

It was strange to live in Lord Commander Mormont's old chambers, even stranger that Jon had lived here before, lying on that table dead – and had been reawakened a few nights later. He still wasn't sure if this was supposed to be witchcraft or a gift from the Gods.

"Lord Commander!" his squire suddenly stormed into his office. The boy had only been at the Watch for two weeks, so he was unprejudiced by everything that had happened in the last time with wildlings, mutiny, battles, and executions…

"Yes?" he replied alarmed. After Jon Snow had left the Night's Watch, there had been a formal election for the new Lord Commander, but since Jon had given his black cloak to him, Edd, no one had dared to candidate against him – and he now served as the 999th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Who would have ever thought? He had written a letter to his mother who in return had been very proud of him.

"There are two men in the yard. They came through the southern gate and are now demanding to see you," the boy reported dutifully. "And I believe one of them is a wildling!"

Edd frowned and was already on his way outside. A wildling coming from the south? Who on earth could that be?

"Come on, we need to see the Lord Commander _now_!" someone shouted angrily on the courtyard. "It's important!"

When Edd entered the balustrade, he saw the two men, who were wearing old black cloaks of the Night's Watch, in the middle of the yard surrounded by his men – the few that were left that is to say… "I am here now," he announced his presence in a hopefully authoritative voice.

The two men turned around. One was wearing a black eye-patch; he didn't know him. But the other had a wild mane and beard – and he definitely knew him.

"Tormund?" he asked in confusion but quickly made his way down to them. "I thought you were in Eastwatch? But I'm very glad to see you." Edd had no friends left, he was alone under many newcomers and more old recruits who might question him any time. Pyp and Grenn were dead, and Jon and Sam were south. He wouldn't consider Tormund a friend under normal circumstances, but after surviving the battle at Hardhome together, they were at least amiable companions. "You're wearing black?" he joked when he had reached the huge wildling. "Who would have thought."

"It was cold," Tormund mumbled ashamed but then his face got serious. "Edd, I'm glad you're here. You will believe us, right? We need to send a raven to Jon as quickly as possible!"

"What happened?" the Lord Commander wanted to know, fearing the worst.

Tormund put his hands on Edd's shoulders, preparing his friend for the bad news he had to deliver. "The White Walkers have destroyed Eastwatch. They are through the Wall and heading south."

Edd tried to form some meaning of these words but everything inside him cramped together in fear. When he could finally speak again, only one word left his mouth. "What?" he croaked.


	43. Jon, Dragons

Chapter 43 – Jon – Dragons

Dany sighed loudly and stretched her back after they had finished this day's Council meeting. They had discussed the success of Lady Talla's plans, such as using the peninsula of the Karstarks as a battlefield. Jon thought this a bit too farfetched, since first they could use the field beyond the Wall, but they had already discussed their strategies wide and far, and would soon march there, so maybe it was good for all of their nerves to have a back-up plan.

"I need a break now," the Queen announced, sounding exhausted. They all were. She looked at him. "Care to join me?" she offered smiling.

"Where are you going?" Jon wanted to know.

"To my children, of course."

He nodded, and they made their way to the Godswood where the dragons liked to be near a hot spring. They walked in silence, it was still awkward between them, and Jon wondered when or maybe even if this would change at some point in the future. He tried to consider Dany's proposition to just ignore their relations, but he had not been able to, yet.

"Drogon," Dany greeted, the joy written all over her face and in her voice. "Rhaegal."

The two dragons quickly walked over to them and nuzzled their mother lovingly.

Jon silently smiled while watching the heart-warming scene. Though it was grotesque, now that he knew the truth, this moment reminded him why he was in love with Daenerys Targaryen – the fierce Queen on the one hand, the loving Mother of Dragons on the other. A mesmerising mixture.

She suddenly turned around to him. "Come," she grinned. "You can pet them as well."

Slowly he walked towards the 'gorgeous beasts' and because Drogon wanted to have Dany for himself, he neared his hand to Rhaegal's nose.

The dragon watched him expectantly, standing still, so Jon assumed he didn't mind being touched.

The moment his hand met the hard scale of the dragon was scary and magical at the same time, and Jon would never lose his awe whenever he would touch a dragon, he was certain of it.

Rhaegal seemed to like it, he wiggled his head, so he could press his nose into Jon's palm, almost like a cat would do. But suddenly the dragon turned 90 degrees around and put his head on the ground while spreading one wing to the floor.

"Um, Dany?" Jon asked irritated by the dragon's behaviour. "What's he doing?"

Daenerys looked at them and her eyes widened in surprise before a huge grin spread over her face. Quickly she went towards them and to Jon's great surprise, she hugged him. "This is wonderful!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Rhaegal wants you to be his dragon rider."

Jon blinked a few times. "What?" he blurted before he could stop himself. "Um, thanks," he told the dragon, then turned back to Dany. "What do I do now?" he whispered and didn't even try to hide his helplessness.

She still smiled graciously and took his hand, guiding him to her dragon. "You climb on his leg, here, and then up, until you sit there between the two big spikes, then you hold on."

Jon nodded and started climbing. "I'm sitting," he stated nervously when he was ready.

"Are you holding on tightly?" she wanted to know firmly.

He fastened his grip and nodded. "What now?" he shouted.

Dany grinned at him smugly and announced calmly: "_Sōves._"

At once the dragon started, ran a few yards before he spread his wings and rose into the air.

"Whoa!" Jon exclaimed and held on even tighter.

Quickly the dragon flew higher and higher, until Winterfell looked like a small wooden model, like a toy you could play with before the chimney fire. Jon was glad that he was used to such heights from his time on the Wall, otherwise, he might have become sick on his first dragon ride ever since he had missed the party north of the Wall.

He detected how Dany climbed on Drogon and a moment later they flew alongside. She gave him an open laugh of joy and her grin made him smile as well, although it was still exhilarating.

It was in that instant that he felt like a Targaryen for the first time and he felt proud sitting on a mighty dragon.

After a while, however, he couldn't feel his fingers anymore because of the icy wind and his legs protested with every stroke of the dragon's wings. He indicated Dany that he wanted to go down again and she nodded.

"Rhaegal!" she shouted over the winds and then added something in High Valyrian.

The dragon obliged at once and soon he and Drogon landed near the spring in the Godswood again.

Shaking, Jon descended the dragon and when his feet met the ground, his knees gave up under him.

"Are you alright?" Dany asked worriedly and hurried to him.

He nodded quickly. "Yes," he panted. "It's just… unusual."

She laughed and helped him up on his feet again, where she kept on holding his arm, for he was still unsteady. Lovingly, she smiled at the smaller dragon. "I've named him after my brother."

Jon swallowed. Here it was again, the reason why their love had become so complicated. "My father," he whispered, and she looked at him with the same sudden uneasiness.

"King in the North!" someone suddenly yelled and a second later a servant ran towards them. "Pardon to disturb you my King – and Queen," he quickly added when he recognised Dany. "But a raven has arrived from Castle Black with an important seal on it."

"Give it to me," Jon demanded at once tensely and the servant gave him the small roll of parchment. He opened it quickly and read the few words.

.

_The Army has destroyed Eastwatch with a Dragon. They march South. Edd_

.

He blanched. They were through the Wall? How was that even possible? And they destroyed Eastwatch?

"Bad news?" Dany finally dared to ask gently, as if he would explode any minute.

"The worst," he stammered. Then he cleared his throat, before announcing more clearly: "The war has already begun. The White Walkers have passed the Wall."


	44. Tyrion, Dreadfort

Chapter 44 – Tyrion – Dreadfort

The Dreadfort was one of the most horrible castles Tyrion had ever seen, almost as horrendous as Harrenhal. It was obvious what the cruel reign of the Boltons had done to this place and its surroundings: it was dark and damp, and one could easily detect blood every now and then. He could understand the Greyjoy boy who had refused to set foot into the castle but instead had gone to re-join his sister and prepare an attack from the sea.

Tyrion sat at a table with the map of the North of Westeros they had brought with them from Winterfell, his fellow Council members looking at it intently. He couldn't believe how quickly everything had changed. Yesterday, he had still been in Winterfell, today he was at the Dreadfort, thinking of battle strategies – and tomorrow the fight against the White Walkers would finally begin. Weeks earlier than expected…

Tyrion stared at the map. East of the Dreadfort there was the peninsula that Talla had pointed out to him in the library. This peninsula was now contaminated by the Others, and they had already feared that they had lost Karhold and all its inhabitants, but the Karstarks had been prepared. When they had seen the Army of the Dead at the horizon, they had boarded all their ships and had fled over the sea and up the river Weeping Water to the Dreadfort. Originally, they had wanted to sail more south to Widow's Watch or Ramsgate, but they had read the raven from Winterfell in time and knew that the forces of the North would gather in the Dreadfort instead of Winterfell. Alys Karstark was now joining the meeting, as the representative of her house, and the young girl looked frightened, understandably.

Tyrion wasn't the only one who was still shocked that the White Walkers had been able to pass the Wall – and no one had known for weeks! He didn't want to imagine what could have happened had they breached through Castle Black instead and went south to Winterfell… They would have been as forlorn as the Umbers in Last Hearth must have been a week ago…

The Night's Watch had joined them as well in the Dreadfort – why should they guard the Wall if the real danger lied south now? – and Tormund and Beric, who were attending the meeting together with the new Lord Commander Eddison, had been able to tell them how exactly the wights had overthrown Eastwatch by the Sea: with the dragon Viserion.

"He was blowing blue fire that destroyed the Wall at once!" Tormund had explained with bulging eyes. "Beric and I were the only survivors."

Tyrion had been impressed that they had managed to walk to Castle Black with no provisions and in the cold, deep snow – and he still shuddered at what could have happened if they hadn't made it. They probably would have only noticed when the Army of the Dead had reached King's Landing. A million more wights – an unbelievable notion.

„I think we can assume by the statements of the Karstarks and the Night's Watch," the King in the North started, "that the Army of the Dead must be somewhere around here." He pointed to the area between the river Last River (which was east of the Dreadfort) and Karhold. "We can therefore use Last River as our safety border. The White Walkers cannot cross the water, so we can build up camp west of it and could retreat there when we need it."

Tyrion nodded in agreement although he had a small grudge against Jon Snow. He had become the rider of Rhaegal – a wish that Tyrion had had since he was a child. He loved dragons and was absolutely fascinated by them, and a part of him had been disappointed that the dragon had chosen a northern bastard as his rider instead of him, Tyrion. But it would not do to dwell on these thoughts, so he tried to ignore his disappointment and concentrated on the matter at hand. Remembering Talla's plans, he suggested: "We should try to drive them together and then kill them with everything we have – fire, Valyrian steel, dragonglass. The Greyjoys can help from the seaside."

"First of all, we need to destroy Viserion," Daenerys suddenly spoke.

The room fell into a depressing silence.

"You don't have to pity me," she demanded, her face once more a mask that would portray no emotions. "Viserion is already dead. There is nothing we can do. But right now he is a threat to our survival and has to be eliminated. I suggest that Jon and I will ride on Drogon and Rhaegal and destroy him in the air."

"That's way too risky," Tyrion interrupted sternly. "If one of you dies – or even worse – both of you, we would win nothing. You are the future of our country! No, there has to be another way." He peered at the map again and thought of everything they possessed that could destroy a wight dragon. Then he suddenly had an idea. "Dragonglass can destroy wights. The dragon is a wight. Therefore, we can use dragonglass to destroy it."

"But how can we do that?" Edd wondered. "If that thing is flying over us, no sword will reach it."

"No, not a sword," Tyrion replied with a small smirk. "But an arrow."

The Council members pondered this idea for a while, finally nodding their heads in agreement.

"But we haven't made many arrows out of dragonglass, yet," the King in the North interjected. "We thought we had more time and had started with the swords."

Tyrion considered this, then he looked at Daenerys. "Are dragons able to melt dragonglass?" he wanted to know.

She looked at him confused but nodded. "I believe so, yes."

"Then why don't we heat up a few cauldrons with dragonglass and our archers can dip in the cauldron when the dragonglass arrows are out."

"That could actually work," Ser Davos murmured.

"Then it's decided," the Queen announced firmly. "First we deal with Viserion – and then we kill the rest." It sounded like a good plan, but Tyrion already imagined all the things that could go wrong…


	45. Meera, Visions

Chapter 45 – Meera – Visions

Meera was looking for Bran. She hadn't seen him all day, although he must have been one of the first to arrive at the Dreadfort since he used the first carriage yesterday morning. It was usual for him to stay quietly in his room but it was unusual not to show up at the Council meeting. He was a Stark, even_ the_ Stark, although he didn't want to be the Lord of Winterfell. His opinion was valued, especially by his half-brother and his sister. So why did he miss the meeting? She herself, of course, had not been part of it, but she had waited in front of the Council room, in case the members decided a plan that would take immediate action. And a part of her wanted to confirm that Bran had made it well to the Dreadfort.

She was therefore quite surprised when he didn't leave the room after the meeting. "Where's Bran?" she asked Arya who nowadays wore _Dark Sister_ at all times, the sword was as precious to her as a diadem would be to a lady.

She shrugged. "In his room, I guess."

Meera frowned at this. "Can you tell me where it is?"

The Stark girl nodded and gave her directions.

When Meera stood before his room, she took a calming breath and knocked on the door.

No reply.

She knocked again.

Nothing.

She frowned in confusion. But he had to be in his room, hadn't he? Cautiously she opened the door a crack. "Bran?" she called. "It's me, Meera. May I come in?" The room wasn't very different from the rooms in Winterfell, except for the unusual darkness that seemed to cloak the whole Dreadfort.

Bran sat in his wheelchair and looked out of the window. Either he ignored her or he was stuck in of his visions again.

Since Meera couldn't see his face, she quietly entered the room, closed the door and went over to her old friend. She wasn't very upset with him anymore. The more she thought about what had happened, the more she started to understand the pressure the young boy was under and how it had transformed his once joyfully personality. This was not so unlike from how Jojen had changed when he had found out about his gift. "Bran?" she asked once more and this time the boy turned his head towards her. He looked devastated.

"Now," he stated bitterly. "Only now I can see the Others again. I can see where they are and what they do, as clearly as I can see you in this moment."

"Then why didn't you go to the meeting?" she wondered and sat down on a chair next to him. "Your brother would have wanted to know."

"I think Jon has lost faith with me," the boy confided in her and sounded sad. "Yesterday he asked me why I didn't see the White Walkers breaching through the Wall. I told him that I had problems with seeing anything north of Winterfell for a few weeks – and then his face changed, and I know he doesn't believe in my visions anymore."

"But why didn't you tell him sooner that you can't see what is going on in the North?" she wanted to know shocked. "Everyone relied on you! Otherwise, your brother could have sent people to Eastwatch and see what was going on. Maybe we wouldn't be in this situation now if you had just spoken up!"

"I know!" he yelled at her. "Of course, I know that! I was just scared to tell anyone! And believe me, I am already blaming myself enough for that, alright?!"

Meera looked at him startled. This was the most emotional outburst he had ever had! She took a deep breath. "Yes, you're right. It's not your fault. And I can understand that you were afraid. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"Me, too," he replied calmly. Sighing, he continued: "It's just so frustrating. Every time I went into a bird and flew north, the connection broke sooner or later, and I wasn't able to visualise myself anywhere near the Wall. I wished I had been able to end my training with the Three-Eyed Raven. There are still so many things that I don't know or understand. I want to be good, no I want to be perfect. I want to use my talent to make the world a better place. But how can I do that when I'm not even capable of tracking a huge dead army?!" He shook his head at himself. "I was so sure that I can do this. But now I just feel insecure. What can I do?" He looked at desperately.

Meera was reminded of Jojen once more and therefore knew what to do. "Bran, listen to me," she told him urgently. "You or your talent are not getting weak. Don't blame yourself. It's impossible to see everything all the time. If you try, it will be the end of you. It's not useful to try so hard. There is no perfection. All you can do is give your best and hope that that's enough."

Bran still didn't look convinced.

Suddenly Meera had a thought. "Have you ever considered that the reason why you hadn't been able to look north was not because of you but because of the magic of the Night King?"

He blinked a few times; apparently, he had not.

"Think about it," she quickly added, glad she could turn his opinion in the right direction, "if the Night King is able to touch and mark you in one of your visions, then why should his magic not also break your connection?"

Bran estimated this. He lifted the sleeve of his tunic and looked at the blue-icy mark on his arm.

Meera couldn't believe it was still there!

"Maybe you're right," he finally agreed. "That would explain many things." He smiled at her lightly. "Thank you," he told her and this time he sounded honest.

"Your welcome," she replied warmly. "Whenever you need someone to talk to, you can always come to me." She had gathered a lot of practice with these kinds of doubts and self-questions from Jojen…


	46. Sandor, Friends

Chapter 46 – Sandor – Friends

"See you tomorrow," Beric said goodbye, nodding at him.

"Yeah," the Hound only grumbled. "No way to avoid that." With the battle the next day, there was no way to not see each other but maybe for the last time. He liked Beric but he wasn't good at keeping friends, so he didn't like to have his hopes up.

It was already dark when he left Beric's tent and went to his own. The North was bloody cold – the only thing he missed in King's Landing was the warmth. But he wasn't the only one shivering. The Dothraki and Unsullied who had lived their whole life on the hot continent of Essos had it worse. They had never seen any snow or felt any cold in their whole life.

Suddenly a young woman walked towards him. She had long black hair and bright blue eyes with a determined look. He definitely didn't know her but something in the way she walked and held her head and stared onwards was very familiar. He considered if he did know her but had forgotten, probably one of the many maids in Winterfell, but he never spoke to them.

It was only when the same maid passed him a few minutes later, who recoiled at his sight with fear, that he had an idea. _Arya?_ he thought in disbelief but both women had already passed and were out of his visual field. Of course, the maid didn't look anything like Arya but then again the little girl had the strange ability to put on a different face and therefore body – she had told him so herself. But why would Arya walk through the camp with another's face? Was she simply training? But no, he thought about the first maid's facial expression and he recognised that look in her eyes: she was about to kill someone. But whom?

He turned around and ran back, tried to find the first maid. If she killed an enemy, he would help her, but if she did something stupid – and he had the inclination that she would – he would stop her from herself.

As he searched, he tried to think about who she could kill. Maybe someone from her stupid list? But most of them were already dead, she had told him. It wasn't until he saw her in front of a certain tent with a kitchen knife in her hand that he remembered.

"Damn it," he muttered and ran towards the tent. Before she could even touch the entrance of the tent, he snatched the knife out of her hand and threw her over his shoulder, walking towards the Dreadfort. It reminded him of the way he had carried Sansa away from those rapists who tried to violate her at the riot after Princess Myrcella had been sent off to Dorne. He was glad the Little Bird was home now safely.

The girl screamed. "What are you doing! Let me go!" She beat his back and tried to wiggle herself out of his firm grip but to no avail.

"Oh no," the Hound grumbled. "You're not going to kill Beric. He's on your stupid list, isn't he?"

Arya's frantic behaviour stopped, and she inquired in shock: "How did you know it was me?" It was strange to hear her words in another's voice.

The Hound chuckled. "I've met the same maid twice in a short while."

Arya groaned. "So, where are you taking me now?"

"To your brother. Jon will know what to do with you."

Arya stayed quiet for the rest of their way, apparently accepting her fate. She could have asked to walk on her own, but she didn't, and the Hound wouldn't have let her anyway.

Only when they reached the courtyard of the Dreadfort, the Hound let her stand on her own feet again, but gripping her arm firmly, after he made her slip the mask of her face, so she couldn't escape. He walked into the main hall but it was already empty except for a guard.

"You know where I find Jon Snow?" the Hound asked gruffly.

"You mean the King in the North?" the man, or rather the boy, asked perplexed.

"Of course, I mean the fucking King in the North," he replied angrily. Stupid boy.

The guard straightened up and mustered up the courage to say in an attempt of an authoritative voice: "Um, Ser, this is an offence against our King, and I cannot allow you to pass. I must further ask you to leave or I will have to seize you."

The Hound only looked down on the boy and arched his eyebrow in disbelief. He had to hide a smile when the boy almost pissed his pants in fright.

"It's okay, Melloy," Arya released the guard. "He doesn't mean it."

"Lady Arya," the boy replied in awe and bowed at once – seemingly he hadn't seen the girl before. "Of course, you may pass. Your brother is in the council room."

Arya nodded and led the way, the Hound following her without gracing the guard with another glance.

She entered the council room without knocking.

The Hound followed quickly and closed the door behind him when he noticed that Jon was alone in the room.

The King in the North looked deep in thought, staring at the map of North-Westeros on the table. He looked up when he noticed his visitors, smiling as he saw Arya but frowning at her company.

"Hey Jon," Arya greeted lightly as if she had nothing to fear and hugged her brother.

Jon greeted her as well. "Clegane," he inclined his head.

"Snow," the Hound mimicked the gesture.

The King in the North gazed between his two visitors. "So, care to tell me what is going on? Why you're here?" He noticed Arya's clothes. "And why are you wearing a maid's dress?"

Before the girl could answer, the Hound spoke. "Arya's tried to kill Beric," he informed the bastard in a furious tone. Beric and Arya were probably the only friends he had left, and he wouldn't like it if one killed the other…

Jon's face turned angry and he stared at his sister in disbelief. "Why the heck would you do something like that?!"

Arya's face grew hard as she replied hatefully. "He's on my list because he sold Gendry to the Red Woman when we were his guests at the Brotherhood, although he had promised us freedom!"

Jon blinked a few times and the Hound waited patiently. He knew what the King in the North would say next and he would enjoy Arya's expression.

"Beric was part of our mission to get a wight for Cersei. He protected not only Gendry but also Clegane," he nodded towards the Hound, "and myself. His flaming sword has rescued us from a dangerous situation. If it weren't for him, we could be dead right now. Your friend Gendry, too."

Arya paled at the notion. "I had no idea," she whispered in shock. "That changes my list," she continued, and it seemed as if she spoke more to herself than the two men in the room. "People can change and when they do something decent, they can redeem their crimes and I will cross them off my list." She glanced towards the Hound who slightly smirked at her.

"Will you please not kill men, especially skilled ones, of our army we need for the fight against the Dead for selfish reasons?" Jon then asked and he sounded both angry and tired. "We need every person we can get to win this fight!"

Uncharacteristically, Arya nodded at once. "Yes, of course," she agreed dutifully. "I am sorry. If I had known Beric's involvement previously, I would have never attempted to kill him."

"Good," Jon sighed. "Anyone else on your list?"

She shook her head. "Only Cersei and the Mountain were left, but they're already gone." She made an annoyed face as if she wanted to be the one who killed them.

The Hound nodded to himself, as he remembered Arya's frantic ritual before falling asleep, but he could understand her anger. He wanted to be the one who put an end to his brother!

"If someone else suddenly enters your list, will you please wait until after the War against the Night King before you fulfil your list?" Jon asked and put his hands on his sister's shoulders. "We need you with us when we fight," he told her seriously.

Arya nodded quickly, understanding that the more important fight lay in the North not South, and embraced her brother once more.

Over her shoulder, the King in the North looked at the Hound who stood there as if he was intruding on a personal moment. "Thank you," Jon mouthed and Sandor Clegane inclined his head in grateful appreciation.


	47. Brienne, Fur

Chapter 47 – Brienne – Fur

Brienne sat at an open fire outside and warmed herself up a bit. She could have stayed in her tent but it drove her insane when she couldn't sleep and always had to stare at the same grey canopy. She had been in so many fights, had fought all her life since she was a little girl and could hold a sword in her hand for the first time. But she feared that nothing of this could have fully prepared her for the fight against dead people that would follow the next day. Whenever she closed her eyes, the worst imagined images rose into her mind, and if she ever fell asleep this night, her dreams would be surely filled with nightmares. Her only true soothing thought was that Sansa was out of danger. There were others to worry about, however, like Podrick or Ser Jaime. Luckily, they were both already asleep (or at least in their tents), she couldn't deal with their worries now as well, especially with Jaime's broken form since the death of his sister…

Suddenly someone joined her at the fire.

She looked up startled and made an annoyed sound when she saw that it was Tormund Giantsbane. Since the first time he had seen her, he had been trying to seduce her with his gazes and eye-brows – but Brienne was absolutely not interested!

Tormund cleared his throat and held out something to her. "This is for you," he shyly spoke. "I have brought it from one of the castles at the Wall. It's a bear fur."

Brienne blinked in confusion, then took the fur automatically in her hands. It was beautiful and soft and would keep one quite warm, she imagined. Irritated, she looked up at him, where he waited expectantly for her reaction. "Don't you need it for yourself?" she asked him.

"No," Tormund replied at once. "I don't need a bear anymore. You're my bear now." He smiled at her cautiously.

She frowned at his words but decided to not press on. Inspecting the fur, she was reminded of her last encounter with a bear. Back in Harrenhal, where the Boltons had let her fend off a bear with nothing more than a stick. She definitely would have died that day, inglorious and nothing like a warrior, if Ser Jaime had not returned and had saved her. Of course, she had fallen in love with him after that. Like with Renly, she could not stop falling in love with her saviours; deep in her heart, she was still a romantic girl.

She gazed at Tormund who was still waiting for her reply. "Thank you," she told him in earnest. "This is a very thoughtful gift; it will keep me warm." And she laid the fur over her legs.

"I'm glad you like it," Tormund beamed. Then he gestured to the seat on the trunk beside her. "May I sit down?"

Brienne was unsure but finally nodded.

"You can't sleep either, can you?" he asked her after a while, where they both had merely stared into the flames of the fire.

"No," she sighed. "Of course not."

"It could be our last night," he commented, and Brienne appalled. Would he suggest they should use it well? Together?

But her horror was completely in vain, for Tormund proposed: "If you want, we can tell each other some of our adventures. Maybe it will distract us a bit." He smiled innocently at her and she believed him.

"That would be nice, thank you," she responded, and he started to tell her a tale beyond the Wall.

Tormund was kind, Brienne realised after a while. Not the Northern brute she took him for at first. It was almost a shame that he was absolutely not her type. But maybe, she thought chuckling, if he would rescue her the next day…


	48. Gendry, Praise

Chapter 48 – Gendry – Praise

Although it was late at night, Gendry was still working. In the blacksmith shop of the Dreadfort, he hammered and forged the last swords, arrows, and speers. Everything should be ready in the morrow – and he couldn't sleep even if he wanted to.

He looked at his hammer that was prepared for a fight against the Dead and sighed. He had never thought that he would fight in a war in his lifetime; despite the War of the Five Kings, he had always believed he would stay in King's Landing as a smith. But then he would not have had the opportunity to meet Arya again, and he would have given anything to be with her once more, even if she was his lady now.

He snorted at this word. Yes, a fine lady she was – one that would fight the next day in the front row against the Others… She had confirmed it herself that she was no real lady despite her high birth, and a part of him had always known. Since he had met her as the boy Arry.

"You're still up," someone suddenly spoke, and Gendry looked up to see the King in the North standing in the blacksmith shop.

"Yes, my King," he replied. "There's still much to do."

"I don't want to distract you long from your work although I advise you to sleep at least some hours."

"That's not so easy this night," the blacksmith mumbled.

"I know," Jon sighed. "Maybe this will cheer you up a bit: I am here to praise you."

Gendry frowned. Why would anyone praise him? Why would anyone even notice him? He was no hero.

"The swords and other weapons you have made are superior to anything I have ever seen," Jon smiled. "Except _Longclaw_, maybe. And I am not alone in this opinion. The men and women who train with your weapons are astonished at their precision and balance. Tyrion is overwhelmed with his new-forged Valyrian steel axe. And Queen Daenerys – and many others – think that your idea to not create weapons out of dragonglass but instead only cover them with a layer of the material is simply genius." The King in the North stepped to the hero of the day and patted him on his shoulders. "You can be proud of you. With your weapons, we will be best prepared for the fight tomorrow. Well, as prepared as we could ever be, I guess."

Gendry was speechless. He blinked a few times before he could muster: "I-I … thank you!" He couldn't remember anyone praising him like this for his work ever. It felt splendid to be appreciated for what he was doing.

Jon laughed amiably. "Don't thank me. Thank the Gods and every person who has helped you on your way." Then he nodded at the blacksmith and wished him a peaceful night.

Gendry on the other hand could not even think of going to bed already – there was still much work to do! And with the amazing words of the King in the North still ringing in his ears he continued to work with even more effort and vigour than before.

There was another wonderful thought that ran through his mind, giving him the best motivation, he could have: Queen Daenerys had not only noticed him and his work but had acknowledged his talent and resourcefulness. Apparently, she found him worthy, which increased his chances of getting legitimised by her after the War was won. Gendry Baratheon, he beamed. It wasn't the name per se that made him this happy, it was the advantages that came with it: that he would be able to court his beloved Arya.


	49. Tyrion, Rescue

Chapter 49 – Tyrion – Rescue

It was early afternoon, but the clouds were such a dark grey that it seemed like nightfall. It had taken them a while to get to Last River, cross it and then get into formation, but now the forces were standing ready in a few lines, outstretched over some leagues.

Tyrion looked around. They were many, everyone with a dragonglass sword, Valyrian steel sword, or at least a torchlight in hand – this should be enough, right? He himself stood in the second row behind his brother, who had volunteered for the first row (they had finally let him out of custody when they had left Winterfell); Jon and Daenerys were even before that on their dragons although they would stick to the plan and fly away when danger arose. _Hopefully_, Tyrion sighed. The Queen was known for her quick impulses…

"Are you sure you want to fight?" she had asked him last night. It could have been offensive but her tone and facial expression made it clear that she was simply worried about him.

"Yes, my Queen," he had nodded. "I admit I'm not the best fighter, but we all have the obligation to do our best. And if I take a few wights down before I go myself, that much is already won." He had crooked a sarcastic smile. Of course, he did not intend on dying – not like his brother who looked at the upcoming front as if he welcomed the battle – but to be honest, he didn't believe he would survive long.

"I'm afraid," Daenerys had admitted in a whisper, tears in her eyes. "I have seen them and it was terrifying. I'm afraid I will lose people that are important to me, like you or Jorah or Jon. I've already lost Missandei." And then for the second time, his Queen had started to cry, and he had comforted her.

"I'm afraid, too," he had responded. "But I am certain that we are prepared enough to win!" He had tried to sound believable even to himself, but all he could think about was how glad he was that Talla was somewhere safe in the South and that he would do everything in his power to save his suicidal brother…

Later that night, he had visited the only other person he could think of that was willing to protect his brother. "Lady Brienne," he had greeted her when he had found her sitting at a fireplace, a bear fur on her lap. "I want to ask a favour of you."

She had frowned. "What is it, Lord Tyrion?"

"Will you keep an eye on my brother tomorrow at the battle?"

Sighing heavily, she nodded. "I can try but I also have Podrick to look after."

It was his turn to nod sadly. "I understand. I am grateful for everything that lies in your power."

Now it was finally time, he could see the huge winter storm cloud coming their way, like the King in the North had explained to them. Tyrion held his newly-forged dragonglass axe firmly in hand but he wished he could just vanish into thin air…

It suddenly became darker and icy wind rushed through battle lines. Tyrion couldn't see well, shielding his eyes from the sharp snowflakes that flew into his eyes. Then a roar pierced through the night and a beam of blue fire illuminated the sky. The dragon was near! Much nearer than Tyrion had estimated. He appalled at how easy it was for the Night King and his dragon to sneak to their lines without noticing in this snow storm. He looked up, trying to find them again but there were only grey clouds.

Another blue flame showed the dragon's location – and Viserion burned a part of their front row. Luckily it was not the part were Tyrion and his brother were but it was still close.

"Stick to the plan!" he yelled to the others but he wasn't sure that anyone could hear him in these winds. It was in vain anyway, for when the archers nocked their arrows, the dragon was out of sight once more, and didn't appear anymore.

Instead, the Army of the Dead ran towards them.

The King in the North turned towards his troops, his sword high in hand, and shouted pugnaciously: "For Westeros!"

The troops – the Unsullied, the Dothraki, the North men and women, even little Lyanna Mormont, and the direwolf Ghost – yelled back fiercely and started running towards the enemy.

This all happened so fast that Tyrion was almost trampled. He could already hear the clashing of the armies and the first cries of pain and death, both human and not, when he finally left his stupor and moved towards the Others.

He was completely driven by instinct, didn't know what to do, didn't dare to think – whenever there was a wight in his way that tried to eliminate him, Tyrion tried to be faster and kill the monster. It was his luck that with his Valyrian steel axe he simply had to touch them and they would fall on the ground. If they were human, a blow at the leg would not have killed him. He was further glad for his helmet and armour since he was at a disadvantage because of his height and so the wights couldn't do much damage when they scratched his head.

This was only his second real battle, after Blackwater Bay, and he already had the feeling that this was the worst war that Westeros or even the whole world had ever seen. There was no blood when the wights fell down, so he knew that every body he trembled over on his way forward, every drop of blood was human, and not an enemy but one of their side. There were so many zombies! It didn't seem to end. But the worst was the smell when the monsters were near you and their screeching screams. His ears hurt and tingled after a while and he feared he would become deaf sooner or later.

Another unfortunate factor was his disorientation. He couldn't see very far and wherever he looked there were enemies. He had lost furthermore Jaime out of his sight the moment the battle had started…

Then of course, there was the constant fear of death, luckily, at least sudden waves of panic were washed away by his adrenaline. But he wasn't sure how long it would last. His life could end at every second, every time a wight lunged at him. He wished Bronn was by his side.

This went on for quite a while and soon his arms hurt and tired, but there seemed to be absolutely no end in the masses of wights around him. After some time, he met with a group of Unsullied and stayed with them, which was immensely difficult since the wights came from all sides and sometimes they lost sight of one of their own, either for a short while or forever.

When the light from the sky slowly vanished and night-time was upon them, Tyrion heard a dragon. He looked up and saw Rhaegal breathing fire at the monsters around them.

After the dragon had cleared a field, he landed on it and breathed fire around them, so the wights could not reach them.

Tyrion breathed heavily, his axe sank to the ground. This was not helpful, for this was a break and he feared it would vanish his adrenaline – he couldn't fight without it.

The King in the North looked at him determined. "I want you to ride on Rhaegal and try to help the wounded. I have seen so many on the field, especially where the fight is already over." He shook his head at all this pain and death. "I want you to bring them back to camp, where the healers can treat them well."

Tyrion nodded - this sounded like a better opportunity for him to aid in this course than trying to keep up with the others in the fight. "What about you?" he then asked.

"I am one of the best sword fighters we have," Jon answered with a hard smile. "My place is down here."

That Tyrion could understand. "Good fortune," he wished his old friend before he approached the dragon.

"Rhaegal," Jon told him. "Obey Tyrion as if he was me." Then he looked to the little man who seemed even more little compared to the majestic dragon next to him. "I believe you know _Sōves_ and _Dracarys._"

Tyrion nodded.

"For the rest, either use Valyrian, or the Common Tongue. Rhaegal is very intelligent." He smiled at his dragon proudly, then he put back his battle face. "I want to see you tonight," he ordered and probably meant the dragon and his new rider. Lastly, he nodded one time in determination and marched towards the enemy line.

Tyrion's heart pounded quickly as he put one foot on the dragon's wing. Since Rhaegal stood still and didn't try to pitch him, Tyrion assumed that he was content with his new rider for the time being.

Slowly the little Lannister climbed on top of the dragon and into the saddle. He strapped his legs and hold on to one of the dragon's spikes on his back. Breathing a deep breath, he announced: "_Sōves_!"

The dragon obliged at once and soon they were flying through the air.

Tyrion couldn't believe it: he was actually flying! Who would have thought that here, at this gruesome battle, his childhood's dream would become true? On a dragon, flying, he was the tallest and most powerful of them all and for a dwarf, there could be no better feeling.

When the first shock and joy had left, Tyrion concentrated on his new mission. He looked around and appalled at the disorder of the battle. Their troops were spread thin, the wights were able to always outnumber their enemies despite their stupidity!

He gulped. It didn't' look well for their side…

Finally, he told Rhaegal in his best attempt of coherent Valyrian to fly to a deserted field where the battle was already over, and land.

Tyrion walked around the dead and tried to find wounded that had still a chance if they were flown back to camp quickly. He found a few, like an Unsullied who lost an arm, or a Dothraki who had a bad head wound. Tyrion heaved them onto Rhaegal's saddle with much force and the dragon's help here and there and afterwards told the dragon to fly the wounded to the camp where they would be administered first aid by the healers and women.

Rhaegal flew off and Tyrion, his axe firmly in hand, waited for him between the dead and the darkness. He just hoped that the battle wouldn't return to this place, for he wouldn't last long. He had stayed on the ground because the dragon could only take five people at once on his saddle, and Tyrion didn't want to waste space with his presence. But waiting was horrible. He had no idea how long it took the dragon for one journey – 10 minutes? half an hour? more? – time didn't matter anymore but he used his waiting time to find more wounded. He was very glad when Rhaegal landed back in front of him – and the rescuing began anew.

They proceeded like this a few times, with every flight the dragon took, however, the chances of survival for the rest of the wounded on the field decreased.

Finally, Tyrion was sure there was no one left in that area – the others were all dead… He climbed on the now bloody saddle. "Let's fly somewhere else."

The dragon obliged and rose into the air. The darkness of the night had now engulfed the whole field, but Tyrion could still see because of the fires where their troops were, and he realised that the Army of Dead pressed them further back, as if they were winning…

Then he suddenly spotted a lone figure against ten to twenty wights. "Over there," he told the dragon and Rhaegal flew down quickly. We can help him, Tyrion thought, desperate for doing more good in this horrible battle.

The nearer they came, the more Tyrion could make out, until he realised that the lone warrior was none other than his brother. "No," he gasped in fright and then ordered Rhaegal to be faster. But he knew it would be too late when Jaime lost his sword.

His brother continued to fight with his golden hand and a dragonglass dagger in the other hand, but there were too many, and soon they had reached his throat and buried him under them.

"No!" Tyrion shouted and jumped from the dragon's back when they had landed; luckily he didn't break his ankles from this height.

The wights turned towards him and Tyrion bid his time until they were near him before he commanded: "_Dracarys_!"

Rhaegal burned them into ashes in no time. When the fire subsided, only one body was left – Jaime's.

Tyrion ran towards him, but his brother stared into the night sky with open, dead eyes while his chest lost constantly blood from all the scratches and bites of the Others. He fell next to him into the red grass and cried against his brother's chest. "You fool," he muttered, "you bloody fool." He stayed like this for quite a while, pouring all his pain with his tears, and remembered how Shae had died, how he had killed his father, how his niece and nephews were gone, even his sister, and finally Jaime, and that now he truly was the last Lannister.

Rhaegal made a ring of fire around them, so no one could disturb them, and Tyrion probably had stayed the whole night, protecting his brother from the harms of the world, although he didn't need any more protection – if it hadn't been for a sudden scream that pierced through the night. It was so high and painful and didn't sound human, that Tyrion finally looked up.

Rhaegal did the same, and together they saw the mighty dragon Viserion falling down in the distance, apparently dead. Their plan to shoot the dragon with dragonglass arrows must have worked. When the dragon wight hit the ground with a low rumble that even Tyrion could here although he was far away, Rhaegal blew a beam of fire into the air, showing his rage and despair at his brother's demise.

Tyrion looked back at his own brother and knew he had to continue. The fight wasn't over, there were still people in the world worth living for, like Talla or Sansa or Podrick, so he closed his brother's eyes peacefully and stood slowly up. When he had climbed back on Rhaegal's saddle, he commanded once more, but this time with a tear-stricken voice: "_Dracarys_."

The dragon burned his brother; it was the only funeral possible in that moment – and Tyrion didn't want him to come back as a wight: there could have been no worse fate.

"_Sōves_," he lastly told Rhaegal and together they continued their rescue mission.

_Jaime is now with Cersei and their children_, Tyrion told himself and had the same peaceful, wonderful image in mind that he had tried to describe to Jaime when he had suffered after Cersei's suicide.


	50. Sansa, Marriage

Chapter 50 – Sansa – Marriage

Exhausted Sansa entered the tent she shared with Talla, Gilly, and Little Sam, and fell down on her mattress. It was such a huge responsibility and organisation that everyone was sleeping in a warm, dry place, had enough to eat, enough blankets, and so on. Luckily, they had already travelled south enough so the nights weren't very cold anymore. It was already a few degrees above freezing point and with every day it would get warmer until they reached Dorne where snow never fell.

Gilly, Little Sam cradling in her arm, and Talla were already asleep, so Sansa blew out the candle and threw some blankets over her shivering body. Even a daughter of the North didn't like to be and sleep outside all the time. She missed the hot springs of Winterfell that heated the castle.

As always when she was alone with her thoughts, she tried to imagine what the others back in Winterfell were doing right now. Were they still preparing or had the fight already started? How were Jon, Arya, and Bran? And how was Theon? Were they even alive?

She shook her head – she didn't want to have these dark thoughts but she couldn't consider a happy outcome for all of them. She was too realistic for that… Hopefully, in the end, they would win against the Army of the Dead with as few human losses as possible. But she simply couldn't believe that all of her family and friends came through, especially since all of them were fighting in the front rows…

She sighed and tried not to cry.

"Sansa?" Talla then whispered next to her. Apparently, she wasn't asleep or at least not anymore.

"Yes?" she replied and lay on the side so that she could see the other woman in the dim light from the moon.

"Can't sleep?" Talla was also on her side now.

Sansa shook her head. "Too many dark thoughts…."

"Me too," the other admitted. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she replied, glad for the distraction. "What is it?"

"Well, um, it's a personal question, I guess," the other woman admitted, blushing.

"It's alright," Sansa assured. Although Sam's sister was older than she, Sansa felt like the more mature – probably because her teenage years had made her an adult rather quickly while Talla still had lived her innocent life in a protected castle. She envied the girl for that but was also proud to be as strong as she was now. "You can ask me whatever you want. If it is too personal for me, I will not answer, alright?"

Talla nodded in agreement and relief. "Okay, well, I'd like to know, because you must know, I presume, and I don't, um, how it is to be married…"

"Oh," Sansa made, for she had thought Talla wanted to know something about the North, or her childhood in Winterfell. If they went into this conversation the direction would get rather painful quickly. Evasively, she answered: "Well, my first marriage was alright, I guess, and my second was terrible."

"Yes," Talla mumbled compassionate. "I've heard many horrible things about this Ramsay."

Sansa gulped as she heard the name.

"But he's gone now, so that's good, right?"

"Yes," the Stark girl agreed and remembered gleefully how the dogs had lacerated her tormentor.

"But your first marriage," Talla continued more enthusiastic now. "That was a good one, right?"

"I guess so," Sansa replied and thought about the few months she had spent married in King's Landing a few years ago. It felt like an eternity ago, like another life. And most of it was blurred with her grief because of the Red Wedding and Joffrey's daily threats and torrents. "Lord Tyrion had always been the kindest in King's Landing to me. He had saved me from Joffrey whenever he could and tried to make me smile." She smiled in remembrance. One time he had tried jokes and one of them was so stupid that she did laugh in the end although she didn't want to. And soon she had remembered the death of her mother and brother, and father, for that matter, and everything was as grim as before. But at least he had tried.

"So, Tyrion was a good husband?" Talla asked eagerly, her eyes shining brightly.

Sansa frowned at her enthusiasm and then she noticed the dreaming look in the other's eyes, remembered that the two of them had said goodbye to each other in Winterfell, and knew what was going on. "Um, Talla?" she asked apprehensively. "Are you… in love with Tyrion?"

Talla's eyes grew wide in shock and she blushed furiously. "What?!" she squealed. "No, of course not, that would be rather inappropriate I mean…"

Sansa arched an eyebrow and Sam's sister sighed in defeat.

"Yes, well, you're right. I'm in love with him. But please don't tell anyone!" she added in fear.

"Of course, not," Sansa smirked and looked to her other side, but Gilly was fast asleep. "So, since when?"

"Well, I've admired him for my whole life." And Talla told her how she first had met Tyrion when the Lannisters had travelled to Horn Hill many years ago. "He was so sweet when he helped me back to my mother and he had saved me from those boys. So you see, quite the hero. And then he actually saved King's Landing in the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Who wouldn't fall in love with someone like him?" She blushed even redder and suddenly added ashamed: "You think it's weird, don't you? You think it strange that anyone can love a dwarf, right?"

Sansa took her hand in hers and looked her seriously into the eyes. "No, Talla, many people do, I'm sure of it, though not me. Sometimes, I had wished I would fall in love with him and live happily with him. I knew he would be the best husband in the world: loyal, devoted, kind. But I just didn't… It just didn't match, I guess…"

Tall smiled at her relieved and happy. Apparently, she liked hearing positive things about Tyrion, so Sansa continued in whispers.

"You know on our Wedding Night he was so decent, although he was rather drunk, that he stopped me from undressing myself and told me he would only ever share my bed if I wanted him to – even if I would never want him to."

"Such a gentleman," Talla agreed dreamingly.

"He even gave up whoring for me," Sansa added proudly but suddenly Talla's face fell.

"Tyrion whored?!" Obviously, she didn't know this all to known fact about the little Lannister.

"Well, yes, in his youth," Sansa tried to euphemise and then explained: "You see, from his childhood on the only person who was ever nice to him was his brother Jaime, and he was poisoned by their sister Cersei. So, Tyrion had no one who loved him, so I believe, he thought that no one would ever love him, and he tried the comfort of… well, whores. Even though they were paid, it was the only comfort and love he ever got. But after he was bound to me, he even quit that to honour his vow to me – although he never received any more than a seldom smile from his wife…" She ended, ashamed that she was too young to understand his complicated life sooner. If she could turn back in time and be his wife again, she would at least try to be his friend…

"That is one of the saddest things I've ever heard," Talla whispered and her eyes shimmered in tears. "I wish I could be with him now. I would embrace him and tell him how much I love him."

"I guess he would like that," Sansa smiled and was happy that there was a kind, noble woman who loved him. He deserved it so much!

"You do?"

"Absolutely, I saw how you saying goodbye to each other. He seemed to be as smitten with you as you are with him."

"Really?" Talla asked in disbelief and hope.

"Yes, really," Sansa chuckled. Again she had the feeling that because of Talla's innocence and optimism, Sansa was older than she.

"Thank you, Sansa," Talla told her and yawned. "I think I can fall asleep easier now."

"That's good."

"Goodnight, sleep well."

"You too." Sansa rolled on her back again and stared to the grey ceiling of the tent. She wished Tyrion all the happiness in the world and a young, devoted Talla would make a wonderful companion for him. But it also made her think of Theon again. Would they both make it out alive? Doubting. But she had to hope. Further, she added Tyrion on her list of people she wished wouldn't die in the war against the White Walkers. Now he stood along with her family, and Theon. Also, hopefully, Tyrion knew what a wonderful future would await him if he stayed alive…


	51. Daenerys, Strength

Chapter 51 – Daenerys – Strength

Daenerys staggered through the camp after Drogon had set her down. She had seen the masses of dead, both human and not, over the field where the battle had taken place. Drogon had breathed fire over them, so they would not become wights the next day, but it was impossible to find and burn them all.

Her body felt like someone else's. She had thought it would be alright to see Viserion die once more, she had thought she had been over his demise, but no – it felt like the first time, only now he was gone forever.

Slowly she crept through their camp behind the river where the White Walkers would not be able to hurt them overnight, and she made her way towards the main tent where surely a war council would take place. But a part of her was afraid to finally see who had not returned… Since she had been on her dragon all day, she had no idea who had survived and who did not. What about Jon, Jorah, Tyrion? Missandei was already gone…

She met many warriors on her way who treated their wounds, cleaned their weapons or simply stared into the night, trying to cope with what had happened that day. A few greeted her, apparently glad that their Queen had survived.

There it finally was, the huge tent in the middle of the camp. Passing the guards she entered terrified of whom she would see and of whom she would not.

The first she noticed was that there were at least some people inside – it would have been the worst if she would have to carry on completely on her own –, the next, that they breathed in relief, and then someone had put his arms around her and embraced her firmly.

"I'm so glad you're alive," Jon whispered into her ear. "I've already begun to worry."

"Sorry," she replied and put her head on his chest, relieved to feel his warmth. "We were burning the dead." Then she loosened her grip and looked at the others in the tent. There were Ser Davos, the Commander of the Night's Watch (with a cut on his forehead that had covered half his face in blood), Podrick (a haunted look in his eyes), Tormund, Ghost (one ear missing), and Tyrion. She smiled at her Hand but then her gaze returned to Jon quickly. "Where are the others?" she wanted to know with fear in her voice.

"We don't know about all of them," he responded sadly.

"Brienne's not back, yet. I lost eye contact of Brienne in the fight," Podrick spoke, his eyes cast on the floor in shame. "She tried to protect me, but I didn't protect her."

"It's not your fault," Tyrion insisted and there was utter devastation in his voice. He looked at Dany with the saddest eyes she had ever seen. "My brother died," he informed her.

She had never held much from the man who killed her father, but she knew how much he had meant to Tyrion. She got on her knees in front of her Hand and hugged him in a try of comfort. "I'm so sorry," she told him earnestly.

She could hear him gulp and he embraced her in return, but he didn't speak.

After a while, she stood up again, turned around and looked at Jon. "Where's your sister?" she continued to inquire concerned.

He smiled reassuringly. "With Gendry, I believe."

She nodded and then asked the final, the worst question. "And Jorah?"

Jon came to her and placed his hands on her arms. "We don't know," he finally admitted.

"No!" she gasped and sat down on the next chair. First Missandei, and now Jorah? No, not him! He had been through so much, had lived where others would have died already…

"Maybe he'll return," Tyrion offered but it was obvious that he didn't believe it himself.

The truth slowly sank in and tears blurred her vision. Jon was still standing next to her and so she leaned again him and cried while he stroked over her hair and back in solace.

A while he let her cry, then he kneeled in front of her and took her face in his hands. "Listen to me, Dany," he told her firmly. "You can't let yourself go now. You're the Queen, which means you are our greatest support. Without you, the troops' spirit to fight will fail and we will lose this war. You need to be strong. Do you understand? You need to be strong!"

Dany considered these words and she knew they were true, but sometimes it was difficult to stay strong when all you want is curl under the wing of your dragon and cry. "Yes," she lastly agreed and wiped away her tears. "You're right. The war is not over. There is still another day of fighting going on."

Jon looked at her critically but nodded. "If you like, I can coordinate everything. You just have to be visible and not looking devastated."

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully.

"Good," he announced, and his face became hard. He stood up and looked at the rest of the Council. "So, this is how I propose we will fight tomorrow."

In the next hour, the men discussed the battle plan, eventually joined by Lyanna Mormont who was then nominated as a new Council member.

Daenerys sat on her chair and looked at the map of the north-east of Westeros without seeing anything. She thought about Viserion, about Missandei, about Jorah, and why little Lyanna Mormont had survived, whereas her cousin, who had already fought against so many evils in the world, was probably lost forever…

"I know we all lost many good men and women today, "Jon spoke at the end. "But the war is not over. Tomorrow there will be another fight and we will win it this time, cleaning the world of the northern threat once and for all!"

The fellow Council members nodded with new optimism, and Dany was glad that Jon could spread this motivation to continue. She wasn't sure if she would have been able to which made her realise the perks of having someone at your side who could help you reign over the seven kingdoms.

"Please tell your troops of our plans and try to motivate them as best as possible," Jon continued. "Let's hope we all catch some sleep tonight," he sighed in the end and the council was dismissed.

Daenerys had no idea if she wanted to stay in her seat or leave to go to her dragons. The only thing she truly wanted, was for all of this to please finally stop!

"Dany?" Jon cautiously said and she looked at him as if he was a ghost. This all felt so surreal! "Will you accompany me through the camp so our troops can see you're alive and well?"

She slowly nodded and was grateful for the arm he offered her – it made walking straight without staggering easier. Only then she realised that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, but on the other hand, her stomach already revolted by the mere idea of food.

"You don't have to smile," Jon told her when they left the tent. "But please don't look so forlorn. Only till we reach your tent. Think of something cheerful."

She tried. She thought of her dragons, how the stone eggs turned into the best that ever happened to her. She thought of her success in the last years, how she conquered Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, and made the places better, especially for slaves. And she thought of Jon Snow, the King in the North, how they first met, how they first kissed, and what a wonderful, reliable friend he could be, even in the darkest times, like these. She forcefully didn't let herself think of the people she had lost – Khal Drogo and her baby, Missandei, and probably Jorah – no, she stuck to the happy memories, the good ones, and having Jon directly beside her helped to put a small optimistic smile on her face.

No one intervened their walk through the camp, but the King in the North looked pleased, so apparently Dany had done everything right.

"We're here," he quietly informed her when they stood in front of her tent. Behind it there was a greater space, so her dragons could lie near her. Since Jon was now Rhaegal's rider, he slept in the tent on the other side of the small field.

The dragons were already there, and Dany was glad to feel Drogon's hot breath on her face. It made her feel safe and home. But when she looked around, she saw that Rhaegal was completely fixed on Jon and not even blinked an eye in her direction. Apparently, she had lost more than one child in the last time.

"He seems to like you," she told Jon and couldn't hide the hurt in her voice.

"Yes, I like him, too," he responded smiling and oblivious to her tone. "Who would have thought that I would become a dragon rider? Me, a bastard from the North." He chuckled joyfully while stroking over Rhaegal's nose.

"I just wished he wouldn't forget his mother," Dany retorted, annoyed.

This time Jon noticed her behaviour and frowned at her, as he went towards her. "You know that I would never take him from you. You three," he nodded to Drogon, "belong together. And maybe, since I am his rider now, this means that I belong together with you as well. But I will never turn him against you. You're his mother and you'll always be."

"Thank you," she smiled and shared another hug with him.

"He protects me," Jon spoke into her hair.

"I'm glad he does." It felt good not to be alone, and that was the reason why she refused to let him go when he mentioned they should go to bed now. "Will you stay with me, please?" she asked shyly.

He seemed shocked by her idea at first but then he nodded in agreement, even offered a comforting smile, squeezed her hand, and together they made their way to her tent where they lay together and found some unexpected sleep after a while simply because they were not alone.


	52. Jon, Prince

Chapter 52 – Jon – Prince

The sky was clear, and the sun was shining, which meant that the Army of the Dead had retreated further into the peninsula.

Jon had ordered the remaining troops into battle formation and had told them: "We need to go forward until we see the snowstorm. That's where they are."

The troops had nodded in agreement and he was glad that they hadn't lost their fighting spirit overnight. Even Dany looked ready for the next round of the fight although she still was a bit pale in the face, well paler than usual.

They had marched on directly after dawn and now the sun had already peaked. _Where are they?_ Jon kept on wondering. Had they used the darkness of the night and had marched south? Was the Army of the Living walking in the wrong direction?

The worst of all was that they had to walk over the field of the last days battle, which meant dead rotten corpses and blood everywhere. Some parts were scorched by the dragons' fire but that meant burned bodies and grotesque pictures. It stank horribly and it was difficult to focus on the task ahead when all you saw, was death and destruction.

"There they finally are," the Hound grumbled after a while and pointed towards the horizon where dark clouds chased the sun's warmth away.

Jon nodded at his fight's companion. The Hound had offered to cover his back during the battle. "You just concentrate on that Night King," he had stated, "I'll handle the rest."

They were also accompanied by a timid looking Podrick and Jon knew what the boy was trying (keeping to the best swordsmen for survival) but he let him. Without Brienne, this boy had absolutely no chance of survival.

Dany and Tyrion flew on Drogon and Rhaegal over their heads. It was planned that while Drogon would scorch out as many enemies as possible (with caution in the vicinity of the White Walkers and their icy spears), Tyrion would continue his mission from the last day and try to rescue as many men and women as possible.

The snowstorm came closer and Jon stopped, his hand high as a signal for the troops who then stopped as well. "Archers," he shouted, "nock."

He heard the rustling noises of hundreds of bows and arrows.

"Wait," he told them and waited till the first lines of wights ran their way. When he thought they were near enough, he ordered loudly: "Draw. Lose!" Hundreds of arrows flew over their heads, all with a dragonglass arrowhead, and when they hit into the block of the Dead, you could hear their screams and see them fall to the ground. It worked! "Continue!" Jon commanded. "But don't hurt the dragons!"

The archers nocked, drew and loosened on their own estimation now and it was impossible for intelligent people to evade these arrows, let alone stupid zombies.

Meanwhile, Jon and the rest of the fighters readied themselves for another day of battle, with grip hands on their dragonglass or Valyrian steel swords, axes, and daggers.

The first lines of the wights hit them like a wave of winter, bringing nothing but coldness and destruction with them.

Without completely realising it, Jon was engaged in the battle, swinging his sword around and trying to kill as many wights as possible. It was their luck that you simply had to touch them anywhere for them to disappear or else it would have been harder and more tiresome to actually kill them.

Next to him, the Hound and Podrick tried the same.

The wights all looked the same: men and women in different states of rotting flesh, some nothing more than a skeleton, with distorted faces and missing pieces of flesh in their faces. Not one of them made them recoil and consider their actions until a large woman with a Valyrian sword suddenly stood in front of them, her eyes dead and blue (though an unnatural colour now) but her face full of hatred and determination.

"Brienne?" Podrick asked confused and let his dragonglass sword down.

Jon looked at the woman's face and knew that Brienne was gone. "Look out!" he shouted when the wight lifted her sword and swung it at Podrick.

It was at the last moment that the squire could lift his sword and parried his lady's stroke. "Brienne, it's me, Podrick," the boy tried but Jon knew it was in vain.

He hurried to reach them, so he could help the squire (he doubted the boy would be able to strike against his former 'knight'), but other wights hindered his way. He saw Brienne trying one blow after another and Podrick stumbling backwards, falling on the ground with fearful eyes.

Finally, she yelled with all her force and lifted the sword over her head.

Jon couldn't look away although he supposed that this would be the end of the loyal squire when he saw a sword cutting Brienne of Tarth's head into two. There was no blood since the body wasn't human anymore and all the inner liquids were frozen in the momentum of time.

The Hound stood behind her and panted heavily, looking at the finally dead wight in front of him.

Podrick quickly stood up and apparently oblivious to the danger around them shouted at the Hound in fury: "What did you do?! That was Brienne!"

"No!" the Hound replied angrily while trying to fight another three wights at the same time. "That thing wasn't Brienne. She's been dead since yesterday, boy!"

Podrick still looked dazzled between the Hound and the former glorious warrior on the ground.

"Snap out of it!" the Hound yelled at him and shook his shoulders with his left hand while killing another wight with the sword in his right hand. "And fight like she would have wanted you to fight!"

Podrick shook his head as if to clear it and lifted his sword once more, facing the wight that stood next to him.

Jon already wanted to concentrate back on the real fight because he thought that the boy had found his spirit again, but he was wrong: it seemed as if the squire was still too irritated by the events that his head was somewhere else, and sure enough the next wight managed to snatch the sword out of his hand and together with five other wights they fell over the poor boy who screamed in agony.

Jon and the Hound exchanged glances, both shocked at what had happened and that they hadn't been able to prevent it. But they knew that there was no time for any sorrow or self-pity now, there would be a time to mourn the dead, but later, when the fight was over, so they nodded curtly at each other before turning around and fighting off the wights, knowing that their backs were protected.

Over him, he saw Drogon flying who tried to eliminate as many wights as possible without hurting one of their own. A quite difficult situation, especially, when the troops were mingled with the enemies on the field and the dragon's fire beam could hurt anyone in a radius of twenty metres. The plan was to push the Army of the Dead towards the sea, where Yara Greyjoy would be waiting to attack from that side; they had just received a letter from her that morning – it seemed that Theon had reached his sister in time.

Further and further, they fought against the Others, and it seemed as if the masses of the Dead would never stop.

Suddenly Jon saw a fireball raining from the sky. "Watch out!" he yelled over the field, but who knew who could hear him in this snow storm? More fireballs fell from the sky illuminating the grey ceiling for a while before crashing down and taking many wights with it. The fireballs were easy enough for humans to spot so they could run out of their ranges – but for a mindless monster, it was impossible.

Jon gazed at the horizon and saw that they were nearer to the shore than he had estimated and that the Ironfleet was ready, shooting one fireball after another towards the battle.

He heard an afraid voice and saw the Hound staring at the flames around him in absolute fear. "Why the fuck is there so much fire!" he demanded to know. Everyone knew that the Hound had difficulties with fire, but Jon would have never guessed that it would make him useless in a fight.

But before he could move towards the huge warrior who let his sword down in fear, another man made his way through the crowd of wights, a flaming sword in his hand.

"Don't worry, Clegane," Beric told his friend. "As long as you stay with me, no fire can harm you."

"You have a fucking sword with fucking flames!" the Hound yelled and recoiled from the weapon although it didn't even swing in his direction.

"And that means that the Lord of Light is with me," Beric smirked. "And when you are with me, he is with you, and will protect you from the fire."

Slowly, the Hound grasped this concept and a moment later he had found back his fighting vigour and was piercing his sword through wights, Beric at his side.

Jon, continuously fighting, looked around and realised that even the addition of the fireballs of the Ironfleet would not be enough to destroy the White Walkers once and for all. So, he made a decision. "DANY!" he shouted as loudly as he could when Drogon was flying over him. "DANY!"

Finally, she must have heard him, for the dragon started his landing until he reached the ground, keeping the wights at bay with his fire.

"What?" Dany asked him concerned but stayed seated in her saddle.

He ran towards her. "This won't work," he told her. "Even with the Greyjoy's help, there are too many!"

"So what do you suggest?"

"Killing the Night King," he announced determinedly. "I believe it is the only way."

"And you want me to take you there?" she guessed and looked over the field. Could she see the Night King from her heightened position?

"Yes," he nodded.

She looked at him concerned. "I don't know."

He climbed carefully onto Drogon's leg until he could take Dany's hand into his. "I know you're afraid about what happened to Viserion, that it will repeat itself." He could see the affirmation in her fearful eyes. "But I promise you," he told her firmly while patting her hand, "that this will not happen. This time we are prepared. Your dragons have another layer of protection under their bellies, not even an ice spear can pierce through it."

She still looked tied, biting her lip in worry.

"Please, Dany," he continued. "You must have seen it from above. There is no other way."

Another moment of indecision passed before she finally nodded.

Sighing in relief, Jon climbed behind her on the saddle, and together they started their way upwards. He looked around but all he could see was chaos. "Do you see him?" he asked Dany after a while.

She strained her neck to all sides until she pointed towards a little hill. "Over there!" She told Drogon to fly towards the hill, and the dragon obliged at once.

Jon looked out for a spear, but the Night King – the only real White Walker left, apparently – sat on his horse and watched them as if he already expected them. "Be careful," he advised Dany who nodded.

When Drogon landed, he breathed fire in all directions and the wights that had the Night King surrounded were burnt in an instance. Then the dragon focused his fire beam onto the Night King himself, but after a few seconds of the inferno, the Night King still stood, not even a scorch on his vestment while his horse was mere ashes now.

Jon's eyes widened. This creature was immune to fire?! "Stay here," he ordered Dany while climbing off the dragon's saddle. "Make sure no one distracts us."

Dany nodded and told Drogon to make a ring of fire around them.

The wights tried to aid their leader but whenever they touched the flames, they were gone in a moment and their painful screeches echoed through the night.

Jon then faced the Night King, his loyal sword _Longclaw_ firmly in his hand, and crept closer to the final enemy.

The White Walker looked at him for a while, and it seemed as if he was amused. Finally, he unsheathed his ice sword and stepped forward.

Jon was hesitant about how to proceed. Should he wait for the White Walker's first move? Or attack at once? This was definitely the final confrontation, but it was also the first between them. He had never seen the Night King fight before, so he didn't know his strategy, his strengths and weaknesses, and dared not to act too rashly.

To his utter surprise, however, the first White Walker lowered his sword and opened his arms. "Welcome, Lord Snow," he spoke, "to my domain."

Jon made a step backwards in shock. The Night King could talk?! His voice was deep and reminded Jon of cold wind in a winter's night; he shuddered.

"I believe you are here to slay me," the monster continued, ignoring Jon's confusion. "Might I ask why that is the case?"

Jon looked back towards Dany, but she was too far away to hear them; not to mention that Drogon's fire muffled any sound.

She frowned at him, but he couldn't answer her. Instead, he focused on the Night King again.

"What is the matter, Jon Snow?" the creature laughed. "As the so-called King in the North you should be able to speak, I presume. Or did the Northerners make a mute their king?"

"How do you know my name?" Jon suddenly asked. He didn't want to talk with the enemy, but an enemy that could talk, at least deserved a chance at defending themselves, especially when the enemy is more human than you thought. That was what Ned Stark had taught him over the years.

The Night King smirked at him. "Your dragons and direwolves are not the only magical beings in this world."

Jon didn't know what to do, what to say. Yet to his relief the enemy continued to talk, still his sword hanging loosely in his hand, as if he didn't intend on using it.

"There is nothing you can do to change what is about to happen. Your Red Priestess was wrong all along. Not Stannis was the prince that was promised. You aren't either." He made a dramatic pause before he announced proudly: "I am the prince that was promised."

Jon stared at the Other in shock until he remembered something which confused him. "How can you be?" he wanted to know and raised _Longclaw_ even a tad higher. "The prince that was promised, was promised to save from the Long Night. You _are_ the Long Night!"

Here, the Night King started to laugh, and it sounded as if he was speaking to a child when he explained: "That is a simple translation error, I'm afraid. You see, the phrase can also mean: the prince that was promised to lead through the Long Night. And that is what I am doing." His face and voice grew serious again. "I am going to change the world, Lord Snow. This world is so corrupt, so wrong, that it is better to destroy everything and begin anew. The Targaryens don't matter, the Lannisters don't matter, and the Starks don't matter. Only the legend of the Long Night has always mattered. When the First Men built that Wall, it was their biggest mistake. They wasted so much energy for something that no one can stop."

He gave Jon a moment to think about his words, but it wasn't enough before he continued by looking over to Dany.

"You know, I want the same thing as her. I want to break the wheel once and for all to make the world a better place." His placid smile turned into pity. "This Daenerys of yours, she is only pretending. Her real goal, her only goal that has ever driven her is the Iron Throne. She wants it and believes it belongs to her and she will stop at nothing to succeed in her wish." The Night King slowly stepped closer towards Jon who stood his ground and held _Longclaw_ firmly in hand. "She originally wanted to destroy all of King's Landing, letting her dragons burn the whole city and all its inhabitants. It's in her nature to be ruthless. You know it deep down although you are afraid to admit it. She is like her father: she wants to destroy everything. I, on the other hand, was sent by the Old Gods to end her mission and fulfil mine. I've tried 8,000 years ago and now I will finally succeed."

Jon was irritated, to say the least. He had heard of Dany's original plans to burn cities to the ground and that it was only Tyrion's advice that had stopped her. Was she really only pretending? Automatically he turned his head around to look at her. Would she really stop at nothing to finally sit on the Iron Throne? What would she do with him, the true heir of the Targaryens? Without noticing it, _Longclaw_ sank to the floor.

It was in that moment that his peripherical vision registered a white spark and before he knew it, his instincts had taken over and he had raised his sword just in time to meet the icy blade of the Night King. His enemy's triumphant smile fell, and the fight began.

Jon never had time to think while he fought and maybe that was why he was so good. He simply charged or retreated, meeting the other's blade before it could hurt his body. They whirled around, thrusted blows at each other that would have destroyed any other weapon, but one was Valyrian steel and the other magical ice.

The Night King was excellent and didn't seem to tire at all, but Jon started to feel every blow, every thrust, and his arms began to hurt just holding his sword. It was after all his second day of fighting non-stop against sleepless zombies. Slowly, he began to fear that he might lose and he tried to get imaginative where his strikes could hit the enemy but it was as if the Night King could read his thoughts: every strange move Jon tried, was blocked by the ice blade.

Suddenly a large figure shot from the sky and landed right behind the White Walker. He turned around immediately when he heard the loud rumble of a dragon – and it was this moment that Jon chose to strike through the middle of the Night King with all his force.

The first and the last of the White Walkers shattered into a million ice pieces without even being able to scream in agony.

And so, all at once, it was over. The rest of the Night King was lying on the floor in the mud where snow had laid before the fight had begun; the wights lost all their lively behaviours and fell together, as if a puppet master had cut the strings of his puppets; Drogon ended his ring of fire and an eerie silence suddenly fell over the whole field.

Jon panted and looked around. First, his gaze fell on Rhaegal who had come to his aid, and Tyrion on his back, then he stared at Dany who seemed to be as shocked as him that it was suddenly all over.

They had won but the victory felt bitter and deafening silence like a bad omen.

Slowly, however, reality started to hit them, and it was only when Dany came to him and hugged him fiercely that Jon allowed himself to breathe in relief.


	53. Epilogue, Samwell, Spring

Epilogue – Samwell – Spring

.

_The mighty Jon then plunged his heart and haun-_

_ting screams filled through the night. The Night King left_

_this world for good, and spring returned to Wes-_

_teros. King Jon and Queen Daenerys sat_

_along the Iron Throne, and peace refilled_

_the lands, and all was fair and good and hope. _

_._

Sam looked at his family expectantly after he had read his poem _The Song of Ice and Fire_. He had worked on this epic poem for the last few years, and now it was finally finished. Since Jon had made him the librarian of King's Landing's national library – one that one day would hopefully rival the one in the Citadel – he had enough time and resources for his epos.

Gilly smiled at him and nodded. "I like it," she told him. "Although the end is a bit too happy for my sake. I mean, not all of our problems vanished with this one fight."

"Yes, well," he admitted, "but epic poems end like this."

"You should write a sequel, Dad," Little Sam (who wasn't so little anymore, since they had just celebrated his tenth nameday) suggested. "You missed all the important stuff."

"Like that I'm here now!" seven-year-old Dickon claimed.

"Or that Aunt Talla lives now with Uncle Tyrion in Casterly Rock and how sweet our little cousin Joanna is," Little Sam listed.

"And that King Jon and Queen Daenerys have a new super cool Throne," Dickon added enthusiastically.

"And don't forget Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna," Little Sam insisted.

"Or that Gendry's now a Baratheon and lives together with Arya in Storm's End," Gilly then smiled at her husband.

"Or the Ironborn Rebellion," Dickon's eyes widened with anticipation.

Sam sighed. Yes, even after the second Long Night in the history of Westeros, many things had happened. But nothing too disastrous, except for the Ironborn Rebellion, but even that problem had been handled with quickly. Yara had taken the Iron Islands as their Queen, and Theon managed the estates that used to be the Freys'. He still lived most of the time in Winterfell, where Sansa ruled the North wonderfully. Ideally, he would have changed his home between Winterfell and the Twins every few months to see if everything was alright, but since his wife refused to set one foot into old Frey territory, he had to spend a few months apart from her. The women and children that had been spared when Arya had killed the Freys, now lived in one of the Twin Towers and were happy that no one bothered them anymore.

It was a few years after the War had ended when some of the Ironborn couldn't stand it anymore that Yara had promised Queen Daenerys no more sacking and raping and stealing. A resistance group had been formed (unknown to Yara or Theon) and had started to terrorise the mainland near the Iron Islands. Jon had sent out Northern army forces and most of the resistant fighters had died in a short battle while the Ironborn under Yara once more swore to liven from farming and fishing from now on.

Sam looked out of the window of their house, which lay next to the library, and saw the Red Keep. King Jon had told no one after the War who his true parents were, still only he, Sam, Bran, and Dany knew, and when he had married the Mother of Dragons, he had taken her surname, so he was now known as Jon Targaryen. This was unusual, of course, but no one dared to question their new King's decisions, and Sam knew that Jon was content with this compromise.

Jon had also told him about his conversation with the Night King and his friend sometimes wondered if he had acted wrong, if the Night King maybe had been right after all, that it was his hubris to go against the Gods.

"No, Jon," Sam had told him and would tell him every now and then when the bad consciousness would tear on his best friend again. "The Night King lied." He would always show him how much better Westeros was under Daenerys' reign and that the Night King would have killed them all if he had won the battle.

"And about the shortest winter in a few centuries!" Little Sam continued to list. That was true, the last winter which had been feared to be one of the harshest in over 100 years had only been 3 years long. The maesters of the Citadel had declared that this was probably due to the demise of the Night King and his army. Hopefully, from now on the winters would never be longer than five years. This spring had been one of the most beautifully Westeros had seen in a long time, and the summer they had now was even better.

"Oh, and of course, you should write about Lyanna Mormont, who still rules Bear Island gracefully and fiercely although she lost her right arm," Gilly joined.

Sam finally sighed and looked at his family. "Alright, I'll start tomorrow," he said in defeat and his children cheered.

_At least they liked my poem so much that they want more_, Sam thought smiling and took Gilly's hand in his. And besides, what would he do if he had no more poems to write? His everyday life would be boring, with nothing else to worry about than Little Sam hating history in school and Dickon trying to climb every wall in King's Landing.

Life was finally peaceful and would hopefully stay for a long time.

THE END.

* * *

_So, this is it. I'm quite happy that I've managed to publish all chapters till today (this is by far my longest story in English and I put a lot of time and effort into this) and I'm very excited of the real season 8. The trailer already suggested a few things incorporated in this story (like Jon and Dany, and also Jaime, coming to Winterfell) but well, this wasn't hard to guess, I believe. I also dearly hope that my favourite characters Tyrion and Sansa will survive and find love because they deserve it (whether with each other or with Dany or with Theon or with whoever is not important, just finally genuine love). But I think that with Game of Thrones all of our favourite characters have slim chances of surviving… (Maybe all of them die and only a handful of people can flee on a dragon to Essos… this would be the "bittersweet" ending George R.R. Martin promised us and would send a wonderful message concerning climate change…) Well, we'll see today/tomorrow. Until then I wish you all good fortune in the wars to come! _


End file.
